


The Unshaped

by Infernal_panda



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Stiles, Cora Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Good Peter Hale, Happy Ending, Humor, Multi, Pining, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Torture, Underage Drinking, eventually, mentions of abuse, trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:13:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 67,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27811303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infernal_panda/pseuds/Infernal_panda
Summary: After leaving Beacon Hills at age 8, Stiles never stopped feeling the indescribable pull, beckoning him back home. A new Sheriff position opening up gives him the chance to move back, and it’s everything Stiles ever wanted. He has his dad, his best friend, and he’s back where he belongs.His first day back doesn’t exactly go as planned, and now he is finding that he was even less normal than he thought.****A Hale Pack fanfic with all of our lovable characters as they try to integrate Stiles into their wolfyhood and crazy monster-filled lives with Stiles as their unknowing magic friend, and a bit of intertwined fates to keep things interesting.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 56
Kudos: 122





	1. Welcome BACK to Beacon Hills

**Author's Note:**

> I obviously don’t speak Latin, so it’s botched to hell. I tried for like 20 minutes and gave up, so excuse that haha

"How's the first day back?" 

Stiles Stilinski grinned as his oldest friend, Scott, slapped a strong hand on his shoulder. After what felt like a million years away from each other, he was back, his best friend standing beside him. It was a fantastic feeling.

Walking into the school was bizarre. He had felt nostalgia in the past but nothing to this extent before. Maybe it was because his last school was so much larger, but it seemed like every year they were making noticeable changes. Beacon Hills, on the other hand, was exactly how he remembered. The same white and black speckled linoleum floors, same painted mascot on the walls, same old lockers, same trophy cases lining the main hall.

Stiles was stoked. 

Even the classes he'd taken so far, which would have ordinarily bored him since he'd learned a lot of what they were going over already, left him feeling almost giddy. The teachers didn't seem to share the sentiment, but fuck them. He wasn't going to let Finstock calling him Billinski a million times drag him down today. 

Stiles and Scott had met up the day before, his dad surprising him with dinner and his childhood best friend as a gift for finishing all his unpacking, but it was even more exciting to know he was going to see him every day. They had talked at least once a week after Stiles finally broke and got Facebook eighth grade year and even more when they both had online gaming, almost every day. It was like they'd never stopped. 

Stiles had been begging his dad to move back since the day they left, and he only got more persistent after his reunion with Scott, but no matter how hard he tried to convince him, no dice. That is until his dad's college friend, Adam Wilder, let him know that the Beacon Hills was offering full ride scholarships to the college of their choice to the top 5 graduates and was in need of a new sheriff. Not even John could refuse that kind of help. Despite his worry that he wouldn't be accepted as a transfer, he took a chance and put in an application. A month later and a million moving boxes later, Stiles was leaving his fancy Sacramento apartment and on his way home.

"Not bad, Scott. I've got Dad, my best bud, and my nightmares of a poorly-aged Lydia can finally be absolved because she is still as much of a goddess as the day I left, dare I say more. All is right with the world," he said, eyeing the lean strawberry blonde haired girl down the hall. Scott winced, and pulled at his lock, freeing it from the metal loop before opening it and shoving his math book inside. "I definitely missed this place. What more could I ask for?”

Scott scoffed and scuffed the toes of his shoes against the floor. "I can't imagine why anyone would miss this place."

Stiles eyed him, unsure if he was playing around or not. Leaving Beacon Hills, for him, felt like tearing off a limb, leaving something messy, jagged and bloody in its place. Sacramento hadn't been bad, per se. He made awesome grades and was in a club or two every year. He had some people that could pass as friends he hung out with occasionally, but it wasn't the same as the life he had in Beacon Hills. Also losing a limb, Stiles had survived the initial pain and adapted, but at the end of the day, he knew that it wasn't there and could feel the ache of its absence. 

Stiles knew he was meant to be there. It was where he was born m. Where he learned how to tie his shoes and write his name. Where he and Scott made a terrible mess in the kitchen making treats for a fundraiser, and Melissa made them clean all day after school, scolding them even as she ate the last remaining cupcake. It was home. 

The only difference between losing a limb and losing Beacon Hills was that there was always a voice in the back of his mind telling him that he could get it back, if only he could convince his dad. It was only a few hours away, and he would eventually be able to choose where he lived. Luckily he hadn't had to wait that long. 

Stiles shrugged off Scott's dismissal. "I'm sure you'd miss it once you left." 

Stiles closed his locker, and noticed Scott had gone quiet. He took a peek over his shoulder as he clamped his padlock shut and realized he had his eyes trained on an adorable brunette talking to a fierce looking blonde he had noticed earlier in their math class. Stiles looked between them a dorky smirk spreading across his face. 

"You are so obvious, man. Your tail is practically wagging."

Scott's eyes shot up, eyebrows knit together. "What?"

"That girl. The brunette. You have your 'unrequited pining' look on your face," Stiles explained, shutting his locker door. Scott frowned, crossing his arms, even as he snuck another peek at her. 

"It's not that obvious," Scott muttered. 

"I've literally only been here for," he looked at his phone, then back up at Scott, "three hours and forty-five minutes and I knew the moment you looked at her."

Stiles looked at Scott's downtrodden face then brightened. "Wait, is that Allison? Like love of your life, scary but amazing, Allison?"

The blonde glanced over at them, smirking at Scott. Stiles didn't seem to notice. Even if he had he would have no reason to suspect that she could hear anything he said, but Scott knew differently. He flushed, wrapping his arm around Stiles shoulder, whipping him around to face the lockers in a huddle. 

"Dude," Scott hissed. "Keep it down."

"It is her! Holy crap," Stiles laughed. Scott just pouted, his eyebrows still pulled together. 

"Yeah, yeah. You're brilliant. Can you shut up now?"

"Come on. You act like people are listening," Stiles said, craning his head around to look at the near bustling halls. "Trust me, we aren't that interesting."

"Speak for yourself. I'm plenty interesting."

"Oh yeah? Let my go ask how interesting you are," Stiles teased. "Yo, All-!"

Scott clamped a hand over his mouth, and Stiles was quick to retaliate. 

"Did you seriously just lick me? How old are you? Stiles. Stop it!"

Scott dropped his hand with a scowl, wiping it on his dark jeans. 

"I'll have you know, licking people could solve approximately 80% of the world's problems," Stiles said, hitting Scott suggestively. "Speaking of licking, how the hell did you get so built? I thought you sucked at sports."

Scott's scowl bled into a full blown grin, ignoring Stiles' sexual remark. "That was last year. A lot has changed. Now hurry up or we're going to miss lunch. And please try to control yourself a little, okay?" 

Stiles gave him a questioning look, but didn't ask. He followed Scott through the halls, weaving through the people, trying to connect names to old familiar faces. Some people were easier to remember than others. He would catch flashes of memories from t-ball and baseball practices, or stories her dad had told him on the car ride here. He had only ever really been close to Scott before they left, but the familiarity was calming in a way he hadn't expected. 

Stiles couldn't help but grin when they pushed through the heavy doors to the cafeteria.

The walls were a less than white white, dull and slightly grimy with age. They had long rectangular tables instead of the faux wood round ones at his old school, but honestly he liked these better, even if it was just a bit too much white all together for his taste. Too much like a hospital. 

"Wow it hasn't changed at all," Stiles chirped. "I bet Mrs. Green still has that wild chin hair, too." 

As if she could hear him, Mrs. Green looked up at him with a scowl. He waved at her excitedly, a lopsided grin painted on his face, and Scott shook his head in amusement. 

"Hi, Mrs. Green!" 

As they made their way through the food line, Stiles reminisced over the meatloaf and asked if they still had the breakfast pizza with white gravy and sausage balls he loved so much. Scott couldn't help but get secondhand excitement. It had been so long since he had felt normal like this. Not that he didn't like his life or that he didn't enjoy things the way they were, but having a friend that wasn't constantly caught up in his problems was nicer than he had expected it to be. 

Stiles continued chattering excitedly up until the moment Scott sat down. At a table. With people. Very hot people. Stiles looked down at Scott with wide eyes, his mouth agape. Lydia Martin. Scott was friends with Lydia fucking Martin? How had this not made it into their text messages?!

Scott cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed. 

"Guys, you remember Stiles, right? Stiles, that's Lydia, Allison, Isaac, Jackson, Boyd, and Erica. Cora normally sits with us but I think she-well, actually I'm not sure where she is today."

Stiles' eyes followed down the line, his face flushing. What the fresh hell? Scott was attractive in a totally platonic, nothing sexual way, and he would be blantantly lying if he said he hadn't noticed how fit he was now, but how the hell did they go from being the lanky dorks in class to Scott having supermodel-esque friends?

He immediately recognized some of the faces. Lydia, obviously. Scary hot blonde and Scott's crush, obviously Allison, from the hallway. Then, if his friends being hot wasn't weird enough, he realized with a start who the thin muscular guy was. 

"Jackson. Jackson Whittemore? As in the Jackson Whittemore who shoved my Batman figure down the toilet?" 

Stiles shook his head incredulously at Scott, like he had been personally victimized by the very thought of his seating partner, and Scott buried his face in his hands. Allison laughed, a musical sound that he had heard about in many different phone calls. 

"You shoved his Batman down the toilet?"

Jackson smirked, shrugging slightly. 

"Poor guy. So you were always a dick," Erica teased, peeking over the lip of her glass of water. 

"We were like 6. I'm sure he's fine," Jackson said, leveling Stiles with a less than pitying glare. 

Stiles muttered the contrary gruffly under his breath. 

"You sure look tasty. Why didn't you tell us he was so fine, Scott?" 

Stiles flushed at the blonde's words, not knowing how to comment to that. He looked to Scott for help, but he just shrugged as if to say, "she's always like this."

The man beside Erica, Boyd if Stiles recalled correctly, rolled his eyes, a knowing look on his face. He wrapped his arm around her and whispered something to her that made her giggle in delight, and Stiles was kind of scared to know what he said to make that noise come out of her. 

Stiles, shifted back and forth on his feet, still standing awkwardly near the table holding his tray. He looked at the spot beside Scott, unsure. Out of everything he had prepared for today, this definitely wasn't it. 

"You going to sit down Stilinski?" Jackson sneered. 

"Actually I was thinking of enjoying my food standing up," Stiles shot back, biting into his roll dramatically. "I'd hate for anything else I love to end up in the toilet."

Scott grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him down onto the bench with strength Stiles didn't know he had. He scowled but kept his mouth closed. 

"Well, it's nice to meet you Stiles," Allison said. "Scott talks about you a lot. Like a lot a lot."

"Well isn't that a coincidence, because-" Scott jabbed him in the ribs as hard as he could under the table. Allison smiled bashfully and Lydia rolled her eyes. 

"Ow! Stupid overnight muscles," Stiles muttered, rubbing his side. "Not fair."

"You know you aren't going to be eligible for Valedictorian or Salutatorian right?" Lydia asked suddenly, clamping her compact mirror shut. "The policy is that you have to be present for the entirety of your Junior and Senior year to qualify."

Stiles shrugged, trying to keep his overeager inner 9 year old self at bay. "Yeah my dad wasn't thrilled about that, but I told him I didn't care. My GPA is all that really matters. Well, that and my SATs and ACTs."

Lydia gave him an adorable half smile. "Its a shame. It will be nice to have some competition around, regardless. Scott says you're quite the diligent student."

Stiles gave Scott a look that he was too busy ogling to notice. That was strange. That was the second time they mentioned Scott talking about him, yet he knew nothing about any of them. "Is that right?"

Lydia quirked her head, looking between the two, and made a mental note of it. 

The rest of lunch went by fairly smoothly, but Stiles couldn't really focus on the various conversations going on around the table, too busy trying to figure everyone out. He could tell that obviously Erica and Boyd were a couple, despite the remark about his attractiveness. Even surrounded by friends, and them frequently chatting with other people instead of each other, he could almost see the personal bubble they had around themselves, so thick it was almost tangible. 

From what he could see, Allison and Lydia seemed to be best friends. He wasn't exactly surprised, pretty people always seemed to attract other pretty people, but the vibes they gave off were very different. They were constantly having silent conversations between themselves, checking for opinions as they listened to other people's stories and laughing at inside jokes together. Luckily for Scott, he noticed her eyes would stray over to him frequently, especially when he would start to laugh over something silly. 

The most interesting observation seemed to be that while Stiles was away, Scott, Jackson and Isaac had gotten pretty close. Stiles didn't really remember much about Isaac, but he seemed nice enough. He was actually a lot like Stiles in that he was fairly smart, sarcastic, and generally nice to be around, but he had a air of newly self-built confidence around him.

Jackson was the opposite, but to Stiles' surprise, he wasn't as bad as he remembered. Jackson exuded cockiness, that he expected, but he could tell that Jackson was a lot less of a jerk than he used to be when he handed the rest of his food to Isaac before he even had the chance to ask for it. Stiles figured he would be the hardest one to understand, because nothing he said was actually what he meant. 

Stiles' thoughts were interrupted when Scott tried to reel Stiles into a conversation about lacrosse, but Stiles was contented to listen to the three guys recap the season so far.

Stiles gradually started feeling a bit more comfortable than he had in the beginning, but something kept nagging at him in the back of his mind: why had Scott told his friends so much about him, yet Stiles was clueless about them? He had heard about Allison, mostly because that was all he talked about, but why hadn't he ever heard of his friendships with the others, especially after Stiles found out he was going to be moving back? They all seemed close. Really, really close. They talked about hanging out on weekends, going to movies, and playing video games all weekend, yet Stiles couldn't remember a single time Scott ever mentioned them. 

It was strange. Stiles knew that it was crazy of him to make assumptions from a few passing comments, but something in his gut told him Scott was hiding something. 

"Do you have any classes with us?" Isaac asked, holding out his hand expectantly. Stiles shifted so he could pull his schedule from his back pocket and handed it to him. Isaac and Allison looked over it intently, and Jackson snuck a peek, trying and failing to look like he didn't care. 

"Chemistry with Scott and Isaac, Math with Scott and Erica, most of the classes with Boyd or Erica if not both, AP classes with Me and Lydia. How did you manage not to have a single class with Jackson?" Allison asked. 

"Lucky I guess," Stiles grinned. 

Jackson rolled his eyes and Scott elbowed him again. Stiles sucked in air through his teeth and rubbed it until the pain faded. #WorthIt.

"So Scott said your dad is the new Sheriff," Boyd said. It was the first time Boyd had spoken out loud. 

"Yeah, he was a deputy here when we lived here before. I guess enough people remembered him from back in the day that when he was nominated, people accepted him."

"Did he tell you how the position opened up?"

Everyone at the table stopped, and eyes were on him. If they were trying to seem subtle, they had definitely failed. Fortunately, though, this Stiles had anticipated. He considered whether he should divulge his true opinions or keep his ideas to himself. After an encouraging nod from Scott, he shrugged. 

"Dad told me what they are telling people happened, yeah," he said.

Boyd's flitted to Scott, then he forced a small smile.

"You say that like you don't believe the story."

"I don't."

Boyd looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to elaborate. Erica squeezed his arm gently, not tearing her eyes from Stiles, keeping her expression soft. Scott gave him a look and Stiles relented. 

Stiles sighed. "My Dad is going to kill me." He looked up to the ceiling as if he were praying for strength to survive. "They are saying it was a mugging or something near the park. That the guy was at the wrong place at the wrong time, got his stuff taken and killed for his trouble."

"That's what I heard too. Sounds reasonable enough, right?" Allison asked, laughing nervously. 

Stiles scoffed. "Sure, if he was getting mugged by Wolverine. I haven't seen the crime scene photos yet, but from the conversations I've heard the last few days about the absolute carnage left behind, I don't see how it could be just a simple mugging. They're missing something, they just don't want to admit it yet."

Stiles pretended not to notice Scott tensing beside him. It was no secret Scott wasn't a fan of blood, but he didn't want to embarrass him by pointing it out. 

"What does that even mean?" Lydia asked. 

"What does what mean?" 

"Mugged by Wolverine?"

"Wolverine. You know. X-Men. Wolver-you don't-you don't know who Wolverine is?" Stiles asked, his hands flailing then falling flat on the table, his eyebrows furrowed in distress. 

She gave him an incredulous look, her perfect curls bouncing as she shook her head. He ran his hand down his face. 

Jackson handed Lydia his phone and her lips turned down. "Man in tights. Not bad." 

Allison rolled her eyes and the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. 

"Nice to meet you, again, Stiles," Allison said again, grabbing her bag and pulling it over her shoulder. 

"Yeah, yeah, it was truly a pleasure. I need to borrow your calculator so let's go," Jackson said, ushering her away. Scott huffed beside him, and Stiles rolled his eyes. Scott was as oblivious as always.

*****

Everything was messed up. 

Cora honestly couldn't decide which was worse, living states away with a bunch of strangers that she couldn't get along with to save her life, or finally being able to come home and dealing with all the frivolous drama that came with it. 

Don't get her wrong, she was glad that Derek allowed her to come back home. She loved him and she was really glad that finally someone was starting to treat her like an adult, but having to deal with school and her brother's complicated Pack dynamics was stressful. 

Being back home was annoying. Living in South America was worse. 

Being away from her home, the last bit of family she had left, it had almost killed her. She didn't want to eat. She couldn't sleep. When she did sleep, it was interrupted by nightmares. Often times she would wake up in the dark, thinking the smoke had enveloped her completely. If that weren't enough, she felt more isolated than she had in her whole life. She was the only human in the Pack, which she was used to, but at least when she was home she was bonded with her family. 

She sat in the library, head in her hands, trying not to think about all of the homework assignments that were piling up. Derek had said school was one of the conditions to her moving back in with him, but what exactly did that mean? What was he going to do when she got her grades back? Was he going to ship her back off like Laura had? Would he even feel bad?

She sighed. That wasn't fair. Derek had never wanted her to go, but when Laura decided on something, there wasn't really anything anyone could do to change her mind. As much as Cora didn't want to, she was going to have to talk to him. Good thing talking about feelings was a Hale family specialty. 

When the bell rang for lunch, she rolled her eyes. As if her brother and his Pack didn't have enough to argue about, Scott's token human friend was supposed to have his first day today. Not that she wasn't curious what all the hype was about, but she didn't understand why Scott was fighting so hard to let his friend in on all their secrets when he was constantly pointing out how dangerous it was to let Cora stay here. 

So, just to spite him, she was here, continuing to work on homework she didn't know how to do, and was too stubborn to ask for help with. 

Before she knew it, lunch was over with only a little bit of progress to show for it. She walked begrudgingly to Chemistry, knowing that Harris was probably going to pester her about her revisions from their lab the previous week. 

Cora walked to her spot, sitting down, dramatically opening her Chemistry book. Her up and coming best friend, Nina, nudged her with her shoulder has she settled in beside her. 

"Did you hear there was a new senior?"

"Unfortunately," She replied icily, pulling a snack from her bag. Nina gave her an odd look. She interpreted it as "what the fuck is up with you?" despite the fact that Nina would never actually use those words. "Apparently he's going to be hanging around my brother's group."

"Oh," Nina smirked, knowingly. "The Hot Hale Harem?"

Cora almost choked on her granola bar, making Nina's smirk grow to a full on grin. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You love me." 

Cora rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help but laugh with her. Nina was different, but she honestly found it kind of refreshing. It was hard for her to remember to think about normal things like boys and shopping, but Nina didn't mind pulling her into her normie girl stuff. 

"So, I was thinking," Nina started. 

Cora took a deep breath. "No." 

"You didn't even hear what I was going to say," she pouted. 

"Fine. It'll still be a no, but continue."

"So you know how we have that test on Friday? I was thinking we could invite the guys to study with us."

"By guys, you mean..?" 

"Why are you in this class?" Harris asked, making Nina's head jerk up. "It says here that you were in mostly AP classes."

Cora waited expectantly, and Nina spared a glance at her before swatting Cora's arm motioning to the front of the class. 

"This was the only science class that would fulfill my credits and fit in my schedule," the guy explained. 

Cora noted the sparkly look of intrigue in Nina's eyes as she all but drank the guy in, but Cora didn't really know what was so special about him. He was tall and lanky, pale with dotted moles across his skin and wore clothes that hung from his frame. He was cute, she guessed, but nothing to get googly eyed about. Then again, Cora was a little biased when it came to the attractiveness of men. 

Mr. Harris scowled down at the schedule, then pushed it back to the boy, making him fumble to catch it with his gangly limbs. 

"Well I can't babysit you and walk you through everything we've been through. Ask the Hale girl. You will sink or swim. It's not my fault they keep putting new kids in my class."

Stiles laughed, then stopped after seeing the deep frown on Harris' face. "Dude, are you serious?" 

Mr. Harris glowered at him. He turned and looked to where Harris had pointed. Cora flushed giving him a two fingered salute. 

"He's a peach, then?" 

Cora barked out a harsh laugh. "More like a lemon."

"Enough, Hale. Just for that, maybe you and Stilinski can try not to fail together. Nina, you're with Waters."

Nina gaped at him. She and Cora had been in partners for two months, since the day she got there. He couldn't be serious. 

"But-"

"Waters," he demanded. Nina huffed, grabbing her backpack and shoving her book inside. Stiles waited patiently, looking a little guilty. 

"Sorry, I'm not really good at keeping my mouth shut," he said, rubbing his neck, a sympathetic grimace on his face. 

Nina gave him a half smile, looking between him and Cora. 

"Join the club," she said. "She's the president. I'm sure you two will be up to all kinds of trouble."

Cora's mouth fell open, and Nina shimmied past Stiles, shooting her best friend a wink before taking a seat next to Aaron Waters.

Stiles took his seat beside her and she watched him, trying to take in as much as she could as fast as she could without staring. This guy had to be Scott's friend. She took a peek two tables away, and sure enough, Scott and Isaac were looking at them warily. 

Stiles didn't seem to notice their eyes, and gave her a quick smile as he pulled out his things. 

"So you're Cora Hale?"

"That's me," she muttered, opening her book. 

"Yeah, obviously, right?" He laughed nervously. "I'm Stiles. I think you sit with my friend Scott at lunch."

"Yeah, I do. Lydia kind of makes me."

Stiles adjusted himself on the stool, bending his knees so his feet could rest on the metal bars. "I can could totally see that. She's scary fierce. Has been all her life."

"She's not bad," Cora conceded. "I just moved back in with my brother, so I haven't made a ton of friends yet. Nina normally drives home and they don't like me sitting alone," she explained. A moment after she finished, her eyebrows furrowed. Why did she just explain that? 

"I get it. I'm kind of lucky since I already know Scott, but when I first moved to Sacramento, I had a rough time. The newness will wear off and soon you'll be as miserable as the rest of them." 

She searched his face, the weird lopsided smile he was giving her, then huffed in amusement. 

"You have weird humor."

"Yeah, I get that a lot, actually," he said. 

"I would be polite and say I'm shocked, but polite really isn't my thing."

That was an understatement. Even before the fire, she remembered her mother saying that she needed to work on her tact or else she would hurt someone's feelings, but if she recalled correctly, Cora was pretty sure she said that people should be less sensitive. Peter was thrilled, at least. 

"Now how am I the one not shocked?"

Cora laughed. "Touché."

Mr. Harris stood from his desk as the bell rang, signaling the beginning of class. 

"Now that the halls are clear, I'm going to go get the worksheets for tonight's homework. Go ahead and start looking over the vocabulary for today's chapter while I'm gone."

Everyone stayed quiet until Mr. Harris left the room, then they resumed their conversations, pretending that he hadn't said anything at all. 

"So he really doesn't take the teacher role seriously, does he?" 

"Not even a little bit. This is my first time being in an actual school in six years and even I know he's a crap teacher." 

Stiles looked down at his backpack, sliding the zipper open, his brows furrowing as he pulled out his chemistry textbook. Cora said that she just moved back. He knew about the Hales, but almost everyone did. Coming back must've been hard. It was for his dad, and their history wasn't nearly as dark. He thought back to Scott's comment this morning. 

"When you were gone, did you miss Beacon Hills?" He asked before he could stop himself. 

The question took Cora by surprise. She wasn't sure anyone had really asked her that since she got here. 

"I missed my family."

That seemed to be a good enough answer for Stiles, even though the only person he really missed from here was Scott. Maybe he really was weird for wanting to come back. 

Cora frowned at his silence and forced herself to keep talking. 

"Honestly, the worst part of coming back is school. I don't get any of it," she admitted. 

"Oh, I can tutor you," he blurted. "I mean, if you want, I probably can. I am kind of smart. Not that I'm bragging or think you're not smart. Intelligence is measured in so many ways. I just figured-yeah." He looked up to Scott who was looking at him with a "what the hell is wrong with you?" look. Surely the whole class hadn't heard that right?

"You want to tutor me?" Cora asked, amused. "You don't even know me."

Stiles opened his mouth, tongue twisting into his cheek. Leave it to his mouth to overrun his ass. He hoped he had left that tendency behind in Sacramento, but alas, that didn't seem to be the case. He hurriedly searched his mind for anything, anything that could make this less awkward. 

"I think you may have been on my t-ball team," Stiles said, saying it more like a question than a statement. 

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You remember me from t-ball?"

Stiles facepalmed. If he was being honest, no. He didn't have a single memory of playing t-ball. He was pretty sure he suppressed all of those memories due to the crippling humiliation he endured. He did remember, however, seeing her name in one of his old t-ball pictures. He recognized it after he read his father's file, but she didn't need to know that. "Of course. This mind up here is like super glue. Nothing can escape it." 

He tapped his head for good measure. 

Cora may not have been a werewolf, but living with them her whole life had given her a pretty good idea of how to tell when someone was lying, and he definitely was. She narrowed her eyes. She wasn't sure why, but it was disappointing. They had only been talking a few minutes, but she hoped that he wouldn't be the type. Typical. Just like that, her walls were back up. 

She turned away from him, and opened her book without saying anything more. Stiles sighed, obviously relieved to have her attention off of him, and he followed suit. He started reading over the chapters noted on the syllabus, feeling a bit relieved to know they hadn't gone over any concepts he hadn't already been familiarized with in his Integrated Physics and Chemistry class he took as an elective. He used the rest of the time waiting on Harris jotting down key phrases and formulas from the first chapter he missed. 

Mr. Harris finally made it back to the room and made his way through the rows of tables, placing two sheets at each end. Cora passed Stiles' sheet to him without looking up, and it was only then that he realized he was getting the cold shoulder. Her face was hard, eyebrows pulled together. Her shoulders were stiff, and he could tell she was actively working to keep her eyes away from him. 

Had he already screwed things up with this girl? He really hoped not. It would be bad enough if he pissed off the girl who was going to be his chemistry partner all year, but knowing that she was also part of Scott's lunch group made it even worse. 

"Today we are going to be talking about the three types of atomic bonds. First of the three are called ionic bonds." Mr. Harris had finished passing out the papers, and walked back to the front of the class, pulling off his glasses to clean them with the bottom hem of his shirt. "Before we get into what makes an ionic bond an ionic bond, though, you need to understand what it means for an element to be stable..."

_Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptap._

Cora looked over and rolled her eyes. She should have known that anyone who was willingly friends with Scott would be a spaz. He was watching Mr. Harris intently, a pencil intertwined in his fingers, tapping it back and forth on his notepad. Stiles stopped, took a quick note, then started it up again. 

Cora frowned in thought, then looked around. A few other people seemed to be taking notes too. Maybe if she did the same she would understand things a bit better. Not that she had any idea what Harris was talking about anyway, but maybe it would be easier to do her homework at the very least, having a cheat sheet instead of having to try to find what he was talking about in the book. She pursed her lips, then caved. She leaned over the table to grab her bag and her pencil rolled off the table. 

Both Cora and Stiles hurried to catch it before it hit the ground. and their heads collided, sending pain shooting behind her eyes. 

"Ow. What the hell is your problem?" She hissed, holding her head. 

She looked up, ready to tell him off, and froze. Stiles was hunched over, frozen in place like a statue, his whole body tense. His fingers gripped the underside of the stool so hard she could see the veins in his arms popping from his skin. He had gone slack jawed, his eyes unfocused and filmed over. There was a crease between his brows, as if he were concentrating, but there were no signs of life in his eyes. The seconds passed like hours, and fear started to creep into her skin. 

"Stiles?" She whispered, nervously. He didn't respond. She reached over to tap him, and as soon as her skin touched his, he was on the floor. 

The sound of her stool screeching across the floor as she stumbled backward was deafening. Everyone turned to look, but Cora didn't even notice, watching in terror as Stiles seized below her.

"Scott!" She yelled, watching as muscles tightened and spasmed, knotting up visibly under his skin. Scott was at her side before she could even look up. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know! What happened?" He shouted, on the ground beside Stiles, pulling his head into his lap. 

"We just hit heads, I don't know," Cora said, terrified tears starting to spring to her eyes. 

Mr. Harris was at the back of the classroom calling 911. She could hear people murmuring as Scott fought to keep Stiles from injuring himself. After what felt like forever, Stiles finally stopped moving, his pants wet and body limp. Cora felt her blood pounding in her ears. 

"Oh god," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Is he okay?"

Scott turned to her, and nodded. The smell of pain and stress was there, but his heartbeat was slowing. "Yeah. I mean, I think so. Mr. Harris, can me and Isaac take him to the nurse?"

Mr. Harris nodded. "Yeah. The ambulance will still want to check him out, but that's probably for the best. Tell the front office on your way out."

Scott and Isaac each took an arm and heaved him off the floor. Cora stumbled backward, her limbs feeling like lead. Nina touched her gingerly, and she flinched away, but it pulled her from her stupor. She looked around, feeling sick. Everyone was staring at him. He was going to be the talk of the school, and for a reason she didn't quite understand, she couldn't shake the feeling that it was her fault.


	2. Glowing Orbs and Other Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek, a pack meeting, and the aftermath of the seizure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! If you notice any random names or mistakes, please let me know and I’ll fix it! This is edited but I am flawed and read over it a lot. Another chapter coming soon.

Derek tilted his head, his muscles turning rigid as the scent of his prey tainted the breeze. It was an unusual smell, like burning flesh meshed with metallic, earthy tones and something weird that smelled how he imagined being shocked with electricity felt. His eyes flashed red in anticipation and he shifted, cutting through the trees and the brush with a newfound fervor, ignoring the feel of foliage biting and scraping at his skin. It was like tunnel vision, his thoughts focused solely on finding the creature, whatever it was. 

Derek stopped, tilting his nose upward again, brows furrowed. To his surprise, the direction of the scent had changed. He thought he was following an old trail, but if it was moving, the creature must still be in the area. He turned and pushed himself harder, not wanting to fall too far behind it. He bounded through a thicket of trees and down the rocks before crossing a small stream, careful to avoid the algae slick rocks. The terrain got worse the further east he went, more rocks, dirt and inclines than trees. His muscles flexed beneath his skin, a sheen of sweat clinging to his body from the effort he was exerting, but it wasn't enough. One second he was grasping on to the scent, and the next it was gone, vanished into thin air. Again. 

Dean's head swiveled around as he turned in a small circle, his ears straining to hear past the sounds of the forest: the animals, the leaves, the now eeeily close sound of the stream. There was nothing. No, no, no, no, no. His hands clenched as his sides and he cursed under his breath. It wasn't normal for a creature being able to get away from a werewolf like that. Werewolves were some of the greatest trackers imaginable. Between their strength, agility, speed, and enhanced senses, they were literally made for the hunt, yet this was the third time the creature had eluded them. 

The first time was the day after the first murder. Erica had caught a whiff of the creature and managed to track it a few blacks from the murder scene, but lost it. They attributed the first loss a result of too much foot traffic and how old the trail was. 

The second time was with Erica, Boyd and Derek on their patrol, but the smell hadn't been nearly as strong as this time. He should have had it. 

Derek made his way back to his car, and punched the steering wheel in frustration, his hair standing on end, small twigs and pieces of grass sticking in his hair. The past four hours had been rough and as much as he wanted to deny it, he knew he couldn't anymore. The creature was slowly getting closer to the preserve and that could only mean that it was planning to attack the Pack. As if attacking the Sheriff wasn't enough. 

He caught it. It was literally right there, then before he could even catch which direction it was coming from, it was gone. Whatever the hell blew into town clearly knew how to cover its tracks, and it was really pissing him off. 

Derek leaned his head against his hands as they gripped the steering wheel. He knew his pent up frustration was coming from more than just this- whatever the hell it was, but it seemed to be the only thing within his realm of control. Scott was too busy fraternizing with Allison Argent to help patrol the preserve. Laura still hadn't contacted him after pretty much abandoning him to take care of their new Pack. Cora was having a hard time adjusting to school, even if she refused to tell him herself. As for Derek, well, Derek couldn't even catch a stupid monster. 

Everything was messed up.

Boyd had messaged him as soon as they made it out of lunch that they needed to keep an eye on Scott's human friend, but it wasn't until Isaac called him to tell him that the kid had a seizure in the middle of class that Derek had taken the warning seriously. Scott had talked about him a lot, especially in the early days of his change, incessantly insisting that if he were able to confide in his friend that he would be able to cope with being a werewolf better, but Laura had forbade it. In theory, Derek didn't necessarily think it was a horrible idea. In fact, the way that Scott had talked, Stiles almost seemed close enough to Scott to act as his anchor, but the wound Laura felt from losing her Alpha spark was too fresh, too painful for Derek to openly go against her wishes then.

Still, even with the seizure, Derek wasn't sure he could picture the son of Noah Stilinski being a cold-blooded killer, especially not one of a supernatural nature, but he had already made that mistake once in his life, and it had cost him everything. 

Derek looked at the time. 2:50 PM. The Pack would be getting out of school soon. He started up his car, the sound of his dad's Camaro engine humming eased a bit of the tension in his shoulder. He needed to get this under control before picked them up. They would be able to smell his frustration from a mile away. He took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose. Control. He would figure this thing out. It had only killed one person. That was one person too many, but they had dealt with worse things. 

Derek's mind automatically shot to Peter, and he grimaced. He tried not to think about that whole mess as much as possible. After finding out that Peter had woken from his coma months before and killed an alpha from another pack, Derek realized that the creature that had been killing off Argents and turning kids unlucky enough to be in his path was indeed his Uncle. Crazed, and unable to be reasoned with, Derek and the Pack had to put him down. 

Unbeknownst to them, Lydia had been manipulated by him, haunted by the memories he implanted in her mind before he died for almost two months before he managed to crawl back from the dead. Derek was still in shock over it, but if anyone could pull of a resurrection from the dead, it was Uncle Peter. 

It was clear to Derek that Peter had felt genuine remorse for taking advantage of her and killing innocents, his only sane intention being revenge on the Argents, but his apology wasn't enough. Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Scott had gotten over the change, but Lydia was terrified of him, and honestly, Derek couldn't blame her. Peter took his money and decided to travel, giving the pack plenty of time and space to heal after the havoc he had unwittingly wrecked on their lives. 

As much as he would appreciate Peter's brains right now, he had to believe they would figure this out on their own. He just needed to tackle one problem at a time. 

******

The ride home from picking up Erica and Cora was relatively quiet. Usually the girls were talking his ears off as soon as their limbs crossed the threshold of the car. Everyone knew the rules. Pack business that hasn't been discussed by the Pack was not to be discussed with or around Derek, because wanted as little bias toward the subject as possible. Whatever had happened today must have been at the forefront of both of their minds for neither of them to want to talk about anything else. 

The quiet seemed more suffocating at the house, everyone seeming tense and a touch anxious, but it was effectively put to an end the moment everyone sat at the table for dinner. To say it was not going well was an understatement. 

Derek ordered Boyd to explain what happened at lunch, then allowed for open discussion, which is obviously where he fucked up. He would remember that next time. 

"My best friend is not the monster!" Scott snapped, his knuckles turning white on the table. Allison put a plate in front of him, and a calming hand on his shoulder before taking the seat next to him. 

"I'm not saying he is," Derek shot back, looking to the others in annoyance. "Talk to him."

"He already knows what I think," Boyd said, dismissively. Derek untucked one hand from across his chest, and glared at him until Boyd humored him. He shrugged. "Scott said he was really smart. He's the one Scott got all the information on the Wendigo from. He found stuff even we didn't have. If he knows about the supernatural, it wouldn't be too far fetched to include him in the suspect pool."

"Anyone can do research! He thought I was doing a project," Scott protested. 

The group exchanged a variety of expressions as they worked on shoving pizza down their throats at the large dining room table, except for Derek who leaned against the kitchen counter, running his hands down his face. They had been arguing about this since the meeting started ten minutes ago. Scott knew from the moment Stiles answered Boyd's questions at lunch that Boyd would bring him up as a suspect to Derek at the Pack meet, and it was stupid. He had known Stiles longer than anyone. If he was some kind of killer beast, he would know it. 

"We aren't looking into Stiles."

Jackson growled. "Are we just going to keep going back and forth with this? I just want to go home and do my homework."

Derek ignored him and his eyes shifted to Lydia, eyebrow raised expectantly. He could tell she had an opinion, she always had an opinion, but held back by the hopes she could get away without staking a claim in either argument. She gave him an annoyed look, then dropped her fork loudly on her plate.

"Fine. It is kind of strange that he showed up right around the time the Sheriff died," Lydia said. "That wouldn't be enough on its own but when you factor that his dad got the replacement position, and then the whole seizure thing," she shrugged, taking a drink of her tea. "You can't be too careful."

"He was in Sacramento when the Sheriff died," Scott said, turning on Lydia with a disapproving scowl. "I thought if anyone would back me up on this it would be you. You know Stiles!"

"I knew Stiles. When I was like 8 and even then I only knew him in passing. I'm just saying it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on him."

"He smells weird," Erica said. "He has all the usual smells you would expect but there's something else too. It's faint but it's there. It's not like that thing, but still."

Derek leveled the group with a look reminiscent of that of a teacher scolding toddlers. "That is an important detail to leave out. What does he smell like?"

Erica scrunched up her nose. "I don't know. Just-different."

Derek looked to Isaac, but he just shrugged. "I didn't smell it."

"Mulch," Boyd answered. "Or earthiness. She's right. I didn't think much of it, but it was really faint." 

"He's always smelled like that," Scott said, waving them off. 

"I don't think it's Stilinski," Jackson said, taking a big bite of his meat lover pizza. Everyone looked at him in surprise. He ignored them. 

"You're just saying that so you can go home," Erica accused. 

"Really, Erica? He's like one hundred and forty-five pounds and a total dweeb. It's not much of a stretch to think him moving back and the murder are mutually exclusive."

"You remember that you're a werewolf, right? Just because someone doesn't look strong enough to pick up a car with their bare hands, doesn't mean they can't," Allison said. Scott shot her a wounded look and she shrugged apologetically. "I'm not saying I think he did it, but we have to be objective."

"You guys eat lunch with him anyway, right? All I'm saying is be careful. Listen to what he says. Keep tabs on his scent, his heartbeat. Nothing you wouldn't do anyway," Derek said. 

"Maybe we could do a Pack night with him," Cora suggested. "Try to learn more about him."

Derek looked over at his sister, curiously. She hadn't talked at all during the meeting. That wasn't exactly atypical behavior for her, but considering she was one of the ones present during the incident, he figured she would have more of an opinion. 

"Are you serious?" Erica asked, letting out an sharp unamused laugh. "No way."

"I'm with Erica. I don't like the idea of somebody else coming into our space," Isaac said, shaking his head. "Too big of a risk. He seems like a good enough guy but to lead him right to Hale House could be a death sentence if we are wrong."

Derek stiffened, but if anyone noticed, they were polite enough not to comment. 

"So what? Because I'm a not a werewolf my ideas get pushed off the table?" Cora asked heatedly, her eyes snapping to Derek. 

Lydia's face pinched together and Derek frowned. Sure, he didn't want his sister in danger, so if there was a way he could avoid it, he would, but he didn't think any less of her. Her opinion actually meant more to him than almost anyone's. Why would she think that?

"Of course not. It's not off the table until we discuss it fully," Derek said. 

Erica scoffed crossing her arms. "So what? You're going to put us all at risk just to placate sister dearest?"

"Hey that's messed up!" 

"Erica's just trying to protect-" 

"Cora is the only one out of us that-"

"Enough!" Derek growled, his eyes flashing red. He was not in the mood for this. He could feel the anger from earlier pulsing it's way back to the forefront. "What I meant was, we are going to debate this fully. If it is dismissed, it will be because we prioritize the safety of the Pack. If we do it, it will be because we have found a way to safely gauge a potential threat. Now. Allison."

Allison's eyes widened, unused to being included in major Pack business. "Yeah?"

"With your mother gone, you are the matriarch of the Argents. Find a compromise between the two sides."

Allison's lips turned down, and she looked at the table, uncertain. "Cora wants to spend time with him so we can better understand whether he is a threat or not, but we don't want him to meet at the Pack house. Anywhere too impersonal won't get us very far, but neither will anywhere too public." She rolled the idea around her head, then her face softened. "I would say the safest bet is Scott's house."

Derek gave her a small nod of approval and she beamed. 

"What? You want to expose Scott to-" Erica interjected.

"He's been to my house a million times, Erica."

"We really don't have any other plans. I think it would be better to try this out than waiting around like sitting ducks," Boyd said, softly. 

Erica frowned, debating her options then crossed her arms. "Alright, fine."

"That good with you Cora?"

Cora nodded, feeling a slight weight off of her chest. She didn't want to think that Stiles was the bad guy, even though she couldn't for the life of her figure out why she cared at all. 

"Good. Everyone okay for Saturday?"

Derek sat back and watched as they discussed what they should do at Scott's house, weaving in and around each other as they got more pizza, rinsed off their dishes, or got more to drink. They quickly vetoed their usual movie night, saying it would be hard to get to know him if he was trying to sit quietly and enjoy a movie. Someone suggested board games but Erica pointed out almost any sane person can seem lethal after playing Monopoly. Derek couldn't help but roll his eyes. After all that they had been through, sometimes it was hard to remember that they were still just kids, but not always. His sister sure left him a giant mess to clean up. 

Derek shied away from that thought. He tried not to think about Laura as much as he could avoid it. He still felt so much guilt from the fire, he didn't need to add the guilt of having recently received the Alpha spark, too. They tried to figure out why it happened, why it had faded in her and ignited in him, but as far as they knew, it was the first time it had ever happened. 

He wondered where she was sometimes, but Laura only ever called when she wanted to talk, and Derek had no way of knowing where she was to contact her himself. She assured him she was fine, that she just needed to get away for a while, but Derek still worried. 

"Why don't we get drunk?" Boyd asked, grinning, holding up Derek's stash of low grade wolfsbane. "What better way to figure the kid out than that?"

"Boyd, come on. Not you too," Derek said, snatching the baggie away from him. "I have a hard enough time with the rest of them."

After getting the Alpha spark, it was one of Derek's first decisions to make Boyd his second. Everyone thought it would be Scott because his True Alpha status, or Jackson because of their growing friendship, but it was more than just who had the most power, or trust and companionship that came with the title. Boyd was calm and collected, responsible and protective, so it only made sense to choose him to dampen down Derek's more anger driven tendencies. 

"It's actually not a bad idea," Lydia called from the living room, settling down on the couch. "Alcohol means lowered inhibitions and as long as the wolves can control themselves, it could be fun."

"And what do you guys think Melissa McCall will think of me for allowing a bunch of underage kids to drink alcohol under her roof with the Sheriff's kid?"

The rest of the Pack piled into the living room, groaning. 

Erica pouted. "We never have any real fun."

"Derek is never any fun," Jackson corrected, looking to get a reaction from his best friend. "He needs to get laid, stat."

"You offering Jackson?" Derek shot back. 

Jackson blushed, rolling his eyes. "You know emotionally dead brooding guys aren't my type."

Derek smirked. 

"You know, we could do it at my house," Lydia suggested, offhandedly. "My parents will be gone and everyone in school knows where I live anyway, so no extra danger there."

Erica looked like she wanted to protest, but the promise of alcohol had her teeth clicking back together. 

"Lydia," Derek warned lowly.

"It would also be good for Pack Bonding. And no, before you interrupt me, I do not count eating together once a month and the occasional training binge as bonding. Laura is gone, and you need to step it up. Alpha," she added, tacking on the last bit with a sharp smile. 

Derek sat on the coffee table, facing the pack and sighed. He bent over, knees parted, supporting himself with his arms rested on his knees. They all waited expectantly, the smell of excitement rolling over him in waves. 

"Fine." Everyone clapped hands, Scott pulling Isaac into a choke hold, Jackson trying hard to look annoyed at their childish antics. Derek held up a hand. "But! But, everyone has to stay at Lydia's for the night and Scott has to gauge how the Stilinski kid will react to underage drinking before inviting him. I don't need the Sheriff knocking down my door."

"Stiles used to get drunk after football games all the time," Scott said, rolling his eyes, thinking of all the drunk "I love you like a brother" calls he had gotten over the years. "I'm sure it will be fine."

"Okay. It's settled then. Anybody else need anything?"

Everyone shook their heads. 

"You can stay as long as you want, and I will see you guys tomorrow. Cora, come on. We're going for a run."

Cora looked up from her phone, surprised, and searched Derek's expression. As always, she came up with nothing. 

"You know I'm not as fast as you."

"You'll keep up." Derek grabbed his keys and put them in his pocket, motioning her to the door. She nodded, stopping at the door to put on her converse, then walked outside. 

Derek waited until they both hit the tree line to start running. It was a cool night, but the feeling of it against her skin felt revitalizing. Cora always felt clumsy running with the wolves, despite being fairly agile compared to most humans. It was like the werewolves didn't even have to see to know where they were going. She had actually thought about asking Derek about it many times, but ultimately kept it to herself, knowing that she would just make herself look stupid. 

Cora was a lot like Derek in a lot of ways, and running was one of their shared hobbies. Their mom had always told them it was because their bodies were always searching for ways to work off frustration, and Cora had to admit it made sense. Where she liked running okay before the fire, running had become like a life support while she was away. 

"So. The Stilinski kid. What are you thinking?" Derek said, his breathing irritably even. 

"Not sure." She paused, going over the events of the day for the millionth time as she listened to their footfall, almost perfectly in sync. "Something is weird about him, but I'm not sure it's malicious."

Derek hadn't wanted to say before, but he wasn't sure it could be the Stilinski kid either. He trusted Boyd, and he knew his instincts were as good as anyone's, but just because he felt something was off didn't necessarily mean that Stiles was an enemy. Noah has been one of the deputies on the scene after the Hale fire, and he seemed to be a kind, empathetic man. He couldn't imagine a man like him raising some kind of deadly monster. 

He forced his mind back to the conversation. 

"Weird how exactly?"

"They told you when he had the seizure, right?"

"Chemistry class." Derek grabbed her arm as they approached a fallen branch, guiding her over it and keeping their steady pace. 

"Yeah. Right after we bonked heads. He went all still like someone flipped a switch, and I freaked. I tried to snap him out of it but when I touched him-" she winced at the thought. "He like keeled over, seizing."

Derek's lips tightened to a thin line. He had never heard of anything like that happening before. Over the last year, they had been over the bestiary and other books from Peter's collection a lot. The attack on the old Sheriff could have been almost anything. A lot of creatures in the supernatural have increased strength and claws. But what kind of monster can't be touched by a werewolf?

No. That couldn't have been the reason. Cora was born of werewolves, but hadn't inherited the gene. So what? He just so happened to seize right after his sister touched him?

"Did anyone else touch him? Scott, maybe?"

"I mean, I'm sure. Dude is super feely. That's what has me so freaked." Cora's frown deepened. 

Derek may have lost several crucial years with his sister, but he still knew there was something going on in her head when he saw it. 

"What is it?"

"It's going to sound stupid," she sighed. "Just forget it."

He gave her a look, his eyebrows quirked.

"I just don't know what happened. What if he's scared of me now?"

Derek looked over at his sister. She was keeping her eyes on the ground, watching carefully for jutting stones or sticks, but the line between her brows showed she was genuinely worried. He felt a small pang in his chest. He knew what that kind of fear felt like. It had been a while since he had worried about it, realizing it wouldn't really do him any good, but the memory of it felt as fresh as if he felt it yesterday. Derek slowed to a stop, and Cora noticed, stopping a few feet in front of him. 

"What's wrong? You ready to turn back already?"

"Don't worry about it too much, at least not until we figure this out. If he's supernatural, then he will need to be scared. And if he's just some weird kid, then he will be smart enough to know that it was just a coincidence. We will figure out what is going on and take care of it then. Okay?"

Cora looked away, but nodded. 

"I just hate it because I was a little rude to him. I mean, he lied, so he deserved it, but before that he was really easy to talk to. Weird, but kind of nice. I just hope it isn't him." Derek smirked, and Cora looked at him questioningly. "What?"

"Don't let Scott know you have a crush on his best friend. He may get jealous."

Cora's mouth dropped open in horror. "What? Gross. No! I don't even like boys!"

Derek let out a surprised huff of laughter, and wrapped her in a hug before they headed back to the house. 

**********

Later that night, after several hours at the hospital, Stiles pushed his food around his plate, unable to look up at his father. He had been waiting years, years for the opportunity to come back to Beacon Hills, and it only took one day for everything to fall apart. He didn't even want to think about how fast word of what happened would spread. He was going to be the freak of nature, and he hadn't even really had time to show his real personality yet. 

Stiles knew he was going crazy. It was obvious from the moment he woke up in that dingy old cot in the office that he had completely lost it. Scott had told him he had a seizure, not that Stiles remembered it at all, but he knew whatever happened had broken his brain. That was the only explanation. He peeked up at his father. He watched as a whispy, cobalt blue light danced around his father's head like a firefly. It was the same one he had seen around Scott, and Isaac. It had changed colors, but no matter how hard he willed it to go away, it seemed that the little ball of crazy was intent to stay within his sights. He glared back down at his food, chest tight. 

He knew the events of this afternoon was hard on his dad. It wasn't often that he made an actual meal. There were the occasional nights of breakfast steaks and hand cut fries when Stiles would allow red meat, but he was almost positive that was the only thing his dad really knew how to cook. Even just spaghetti from a box and jar like this was somewhat of a delicacy coming from him. Stiles was trying his best to act normal for his sake, especially after seeing the panicked look on his face when he arrived at the hospital. He didn't need anything else on his plate. 

Luckily, contrary to the weird ass symptom of a new little light buddy, the doctors claimed he was fine. After an EEG, CT, and MRI, they seemed to be believe that nothing had happened at all, as if a whole room of seniors hadn't witnessed the seizure. Stiles wasn't going to argue with them. He couldn't even bring himself to admit what he was seeing out loud to himself, much less try to explain it to someone else. 

Stiles couldn't help but wonder if this is how it started with his mom. The thought sent a disgusted, angry shiver down his spine that settled in his stomach like a rock, and nausea rolled over him. God he hoped not. 

Stiles knew he had good times with her. If he wanted to, he could probably conjure memories of planting flowers with her in the back yard of his childhood home, or laughing over bowls of popcorn watching cartoons, but he never felt the need to. Any happiness or closure he could have drawn from those memories was snuffed out by the pain and agony burned into his mind. 

He couldn't be like her. Dad would be broken, he thought. He had only barely kept it together with his mom. He wouldn't survive it this time.

"You okay, Stiles?"

What if he just didn't tell him? He would be 18 in two months. He could start seeing a doctor without his father's permission then. He would have to watch the mail to keep him from finding out through the insurance. But what if he waits two months and it's too late? He couldn't be like her. He refused to. What if it progresses to the point of-

"Stiles?"

Stiles eyes snapped up to his dad. "What?"

Noah eyed him warily, noticing his son had stopped eating. "You sure you're feeling okay? We can take you back to the doctor. Or maybe we can see if Melissa will make a trip out."

Stiles took a deep breath, puffing his cheeks out as he exhaled. The last thing he needed right now was to upset Melissa. She had enough on her plate as it was. He picked up his fork and willed away his nausea. "Nah, I'm alright. I'm just thinking about school. Wasn't exacting a shining first impression."

Noah sighed in sympathy, leaning back in his chair. "It'll be okay, kiddo. Maybe it was just too much. There are a lot of memories here. I read that stress can cause seizures-"

"In people with epilepsy, I know, dad. I don't have epilepsy, though."

They sat in silence for a stretch, each letting their thoughts wander. 

"I got crime scene photos today," Noah said, taking another bite to hide the expression on his face.

Stiles practically crawled up the table, ignoring the voice in his head that told him his dad must be really rattled if he's offering up files without an hour of begging on Stiles' part. "Dad. You have to show me."

"I don't know. They are pretty brutal. Plus, you know I'm not supposed to show you anything from unsolved case files," Noah said, sternly, but there was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Stiles rolled his eyes. Two could play at that game. 

"I had a seizure. On my first day of school. Ruined my favorite pants! All of that after making an ass out of myself trying to explain how I knew Cora Hale. You have to show me."

"Cora Hale is back in town? Last I heard she was living somewhere down south." Noah paused, then his face contorted as he absorbed the insinuation. "Wait, did you read the Hale case file?"

Stiles eyes widened and his face flushed around a giant mouthful of spaghetti. His dad pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"Damn it, Stiles. Am I going to have to start keeping all of my files at work? That file was from what? 6 years ago?"

"Seven," he muttered, gulping down the painfully large bite. His dad shot him a glare and Stiles pretended to pick at a spot on the old cherry wood table. He peeked up at him and the Sheriff was still staring at him, the little blue orb, flitting around, flickering between its normal brightness and turning almost white. Stiles stopped. He hadn't seen it do that yet. He couldn't help but follow it with his eyes, trying to figure out what it could be.

The Sheriff sighed. "And I lost you. Fine." He pulled out a Manila folder and handed it to Stiles. "I may need your help on this one anyway. I'd finish up dinner before you look at it though. Rough stuff."

"Thanks. I'll give you my notes when I can," Stiles said excitedly, temporarily putting the little ball of light out of his mind. He could hear his dad riffling through the small, apartment fridge, probably in search for all the beer that Stiles had purposely put at the very back. He knew that his father drinking beer was a lot better than when he pulled out the whiskey, but he wished his father didn't feel the need to drink at all. He understood that alcoholism was an addiction and an illness, had read all about it, and even tried to present his dad with a slide show and a board full of reasons he should join AA or go to rehab, but it had ultimately failed. 

_"I don't smoke. I don't go out and party. I let you feed me rabbit food. I have a few drinks every night after working my tail off to support us. This is my one thing. Don't try to guilt me out of it."_

Stiles ignored the familiar hiss of the can opening behind him, and got up to hurriedly wash his fork and plate in the sink of Luke-warm dishwater, ignoring the little ball of light as it followed lazily behind him. He cursed as he got his sleeve wet, and hurriedly dried his hands on his pants before grabbing the folder off the table. 

Stiles could see his father taking up residence on the couch for the night, the glow of the tv illuminating his features. 

"I'll be in my room if you need me."

His dad lifted the can in acknowledgment. "Don't tell anyone at school, Stiles. I'm serious."

Stiles couldn't help himself. He lifted a hand in salute. 

"Yes sir, Sheriff sir!" 

The Sheriff raised a skeptical brow then shooed him off. 

The Stilinski's new apartment wasn't exactly what Stiles would call roomy. One full bath, two rooms, a kitchen/dining room area and a small living room was the place he now called home. His father had looked pretty bummed about it when they arrived, but Stiles reminded him several times it was just until something they liked better was available. 

Stiles sat down on his bed, which took up almost half of his room and opened the file, his eyes widening. He could see why they had almost called it an animal attack. The man in the pictures had literally been shredded, the meat of his back looking like bloodied streamers veering off the sides of his body. The concrete sidewalk was pooled in dark, sticky liquid around the man, his eyes bloodshot, so much so you could hardly see the whites of his eye. 

He opened the report, curious to see what made them change their mind from animal attack to mugging. He scanned the handwriting, pausing when he got near the bottom. 

"Tyler Monroe was last seen leaving the station with evidence from a joint-case (CN-US143A) with Alford County PD. According to ACPD, their lead investigator, Kacie Keeney, was supposed to meet Monroe at the Court House at 7 AM. Monroe's badge, gun, evidence, and wallet were all missing, and his accounts drained."

Stiles frowned, tapping his pencil on his crossed leg. It would definitely be hard for a mountain lion to clean out the guy's bank accounts, he supposed. Stiles pulled out his sticky note pad at started jotting down notes. 

"No damage to face or teeth."

"Evidence gone." 

"Animal like claw marks." 

"Dropped in public place." 

"Sheriff." 

"Blood shot eyes." 

"Attacked from Behind." 

"Look into CN-US143A"

He placed them on the outside of the file as he went, and when he was contented, he walked over to the board, placing them in their designated areas. Then he used a marker on the board to make three sections. The first one he labeled questions, the second motive, the third suspects. He jotted a few down based off of the information given, then looked through the file again, making sure he didn't miss anything else. 

By the time he had finished up going over the basics, it was 1:43 AM. Damn. He was not going to want to wake up in the morning. He got up off his bed, and tore off his clothes, tossing him in the laundry basket inside the closet. Stiles passed the mirror on his way to the bathroom, and he stopped a few paces from it. Something was different. 

He stepped back a few steps until his reflection came into view and his mouth dropped open. Just above his collar bone, an unnaturally black symbol he had never seen before was drawn next to the tendon in his neck. He stared at it, wide eyed and confused. Why would someone draw that on him? When did they even have the time to do it? 

The little ball of light rested on in the center of the mark, and stayed there for a moment before flitting away again. 

Stiles pushed away the thought of how perfectly the little light had fit in the tiny little space, and reached into the cabinet above the toilet. He grabbed the first rag he touched, wetting it and lathering it up with soap before scrubbing at his skin. With each stroke, his unease grew. 

"No," Stiles whispered. "No, no, no, no, no. Not good. Not good."

He scrubbed faster, watching with shaking hands as his skin grew red and raw, with no indication that the mark had faded at all. 

Whatever the hell it was, it wasn't coming off any time soon.

****

"Stiles!" Noah yelled from the kitchen. "Get your butt out of bed. You need to leave in five minutes if you're going to make it for breakfast."

Stiles had been awake since 6, thanks to the incessant chirping of the birds outside his window. He laid in bed for a while before forcing himself to get up and research, just staring at the ceiling on top of cool blankets, going over everything in his mind. 

Even after he finally calmed himself down enough to get in bed, his thoughts whirred around his curiosity addled brain, keeping him from sleep. It was only after his mind was completely spent that he managed to slip into sleep, but by then it was almost 3 o'clock. 

Stiles gazed at the clock in the bottom corner of the screen that was gleaming 6:50 in his face like it was disappointed in his poor life choices, feeling a strange kind of disconnect, probably from the lack of sleep. He knew he should start getting ready for the day, but part of him wanted to stay home and research. Surely there had to be personal accounts written about people going through experiences like his own. Maybe if he could find an account similar to his, and researched whatever they ended up diagnosed with, he could at least lower the pool of possible issues, maybe even narrow it down to the specific area of the brain. He stood up at the computer, but couldn't pull himself away from the keys. He took a quick swig of his Monster he managed to sneak into his room. If he could just read one more line...

"Stiles! If you aren't down in twenty seconds I'm driving you to school with the sirens on!"

"You wouldn't dare," he countered, pushing the bookmark button. 

Part of him had debated walking to the living room with his shirt off, just to see if his dad would say anything about the mark, a Septagram according to his hour worth of research on google, but fear had kept him from doing it. He wasn't sure if it was from fear that he would be able to see it, or he wouldn't. Stiles closed his eyes tightly to fight off the throbbing. He didn't want to deal with this today. It was only his second day back. He shouldn't be this stressed on his second day of anything.

"17...16...15.."

"Damn," he whispered, grabbing his backpack and pushing the off button on his computer. "Fine, you terrorist. I'm coming!"

Stiles hurried down the hall, his jacket only half on, twisted from putting his arm through the hole upside down. He picked up a piece of toast and stuck it in his mouth, working to take off his jacket with his backpack still on. Noah watched him with barely concealed amusement in his eyes. 

"What rabbit hole did you fall in this morning?"

Luckily enough, he had been awake enough to have a lie ready. 

"I saw this really awesome antique at that pawn festival we went through last week and I've been researching its origins and stuff. You'd be surprised how many early civilizations liked to sacrifice virgins. You're lucky we were born in this century, or you probably wouldn't have a son."

"Anything in the name of getting some rain," Noah said, shaking his head. "I really wish you would keep your personal life a mystery." 

"Oh come on, dad. You love me," Stiles said, putting a heavy hand on his shoulder. "My very open and depressing sex life and all."

Noah huffed and pulled Stiles in for a hug. 

"Did you take your medicine?" Stiles asked. "You know that if you don't you could make yourself sick. Actually, just by having-"

"Yes, Stiles. I took it. Just like I have for the last four months," Noah said patiently. Stiles shrugged, contented. 

"What did you have for breakfast?" 

"Egg whites and toast. Do I pass?"

Stiles walked over to the fridge and pulled out some orange juice. "Just making sure, Dad."

From the other room, they could hear Noah's radio. 

"-got a report of a possible 187 at 1902 Broderick Way."

Stiles put down the glass, tilting his head, brow raised. "Another dead body?"

Stiles stretched the tension from his muscles, his vision swimming from the sudden rush of blood to his head. Lights twinkled behind his eyes, and he stiffened, mid-stretch. Lights. How had he not noticed?

His little light buddy was gone. 

He had been actively ignoring it the night before while he worked, annoyed that it was bobbling up and down, hovering around his door, as if searching for a way to escape, but after seeing the mark and having nothing better to do with his time, he studied it.

His first comparison of it to a firefly hadn't been super off, excluding the fact that it's light was constant, but after focusing on it instead of trying to ignore it, he realized it was more often like a bumblebee. It would switch between quick, jerky motions, then fall back on more lackadaisical, almost lazy movements. It's size seemed to fluctuate as well, sometimes hardly bigger than a marble and at its largest just smaller than a t-ball. 

Stiles had tried to catch it as he laid in bed, but it seemed to be made entirely of wispy, textured light, which only furthered his theory that it was all in his head. The moment he touched it, it phased away like smoke, then gathered back together into its orb shape. Stiles had to admit, for a figment of his imagination, it was pretty damn cool. 

But now it was gone. 

Stiles wasn't sure how he felt about that. After the initial shock, he had kind of started to like it. More than just that though, the fear of damage unseen had already taken root in his chest, and he wasn't sure if the missing orb meant he was getting better or worse. On one hand, not seeing imaginary glowing lights seemed to be normal, and so not seeing them sounded like the better of the two scenarios, but what if the light had been caused by some kind of electrical impulses in his brain, trying to fix what the seizure broke? Did that mean he was fixed, or did his brain give up trying to heal itself? 

"Don't worry about it. It could be anything. Just get to school," his dad muttered. 

"Don't worry about what?" Stiles asked. Noah stopped pouring his second cup of coffee and appraised Stiles worriedly. 

"You sure you're good to go today?" Noah asked, slowly. "You can stay home."

Stiles gaped at the offer then shook his head, remembering their conversation.

"Oh. Dead body. Right. Yeah. I'm good."

Noah didn't look convinced but he nodded anyway, tossing Stiles his keys. Stiles’ eyes flitted to the radio then back at his keys. 

“No, actually, weren't you driving me to school? We could stop on the way. I could even skip first period and-"

"You came down before your time was up."

"Come on, dad. Stick to your guns. How am I ever supposed to learn?"

"Goodbye, Stiles. Love you. Stay out of trouble," his dad said, pushing him through the door and shutting it behind him. 

"You call yourself a father," Stiles faux whispered through the door. "Love you too!"

****

It wasn't as easy to keep secrets from Scott as it was his dad. Sure, he had actually only talked to Scott over the phone or headset the last few years, but that made confiding secrets in him that much easier. It didn't help that in his haste to get out the door, Stiles' had forgotten to take his adderall. 

His first class wasn’t too bad. He could feel unease starting to prickle at his skin, but it was manageable. It didn’t escape his attention that Boyd kept looking at him, though Erica seemed determined to act like he didn’t exist, so maybe he was being more twitchy than he thought. 

By their second class, though, Stiles felt like he was coming apart at the seams with nervous energy. He didn't think it was usually this bad, especially after just one missed dose, but he was getting annoyed with himself at this point. Class wasn't stimulating enough. He was taking notes, shaking his leg, tapping his pencil, reciting elements from the periodic table, anything to get rid of the buzzing energy beneath his skin. 

As if he didn't already have enough attention as the seizing new kid, he couldn't freaking sit still. 

He could feel Scott staring at him from across the room halfway through third period, so it didn't surprise him when he was practically dragged to the bathroom when the bell rang. 

"Something is wrong with you," Scott said, his usual bright puppy dog eyes dark with concern. 

"You wouldn't be the first to say so," Stiles tried to play it off.

"Come on, seriously. I thought the doctors said you were fine. What's going on?"

"They did. I just forgot to take my meds this morning."

Scott pondered that a moment, shifting from foot to foot. He took a deep breath through his nose and his face hardened. 

"If that's all it is, why are you freaking out?"

Stiles was going to deny it, ask why Scott why she thought he was freaking out, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was freaking out. Majorly. How could he not after everything that happened the last 24 hours? 

There was a long drawn out pause, expectation lingering in the air. Stiles walked over to the sink, pumping some soap into his hand and started washing his hands, distractedly. 

“Stiles,” Scott demanded. 

Stiles scrubbed the palms of his hands roughly with his finger tips. 

"You remember about my mom, right?"

He looked up at Scott's reflection as he stilled, then nodded slowly. 

"The- the hitting?"

"No," he said hurriedly. "I mean, yeah. You know how she-why she, you know," he swallowed past the reluctance she felt, pushing forward before he could talk himself out of it. "I think I'm going crazy."

His admission came out as a worry-thick whisper that made Scott want to whimper. Stiles grabbed some paper towels, drying each finger individually, making sure every drop was free from his hands.

"Why do you think that?" Scott asked. 

Stiles shrugged, not trusting his voice. How could he explain the light from the night before, or the Mark that he noticed was gone on his way to school? He couldn’t tell Scott he didn’t know what was happening to him, and he wasn't going to act like some terrified kid. This sucked, but he wasn't going to freak Scott out by being freaked out. The last thing he needed was to make his best friend have an asthma attack. 

Scott grabbed his shoulders, bending down so she could see Stiles' downcast eyes. 

"Whatever, I don't even need to know. You know why? I know you, okay? I do. You're not going crazy. Whatever is freaking you out, it's probably nothing."

Stiles stared at him, wishing he was right, and feeling guilty for being almost irritable at his optimism. Before he could stop himself, he was biting the words out. 

"I'm seeing things, Scott. How is that nothing?"

Scott's jaw tensed, and Stiles could see a crack in his confident facade. "What kind of things?"

Stiles wrapped his arms around himself. "You know what, never mind. I’m fine. Just forget it."

"No. Stiles. Come on. This is important," Scott said, grabbing his backpack as he passed. 

Jackson opened the bathroom door, feigning ignorance of their presence, and Scott glared at him. Jackson may be his friend, but he sure knew how to be a dick and ruin things when he felt like it. Jackson held up his hands innocently. 

"Sorry, I gotta piss. That okay or you going to make me go outside like a dog?"

Stiles nodded his head, not even bothering to snark back. 

Scott grabbed his backpack again, this time stopping him and pulling him into a tight hug. "I'll see you at lunch, okay? We will talk about this later."

******

Scott was nervous. 

He didn't want to be. He had complete and utter faith that his best friend was not the thing that killed David. He was also confident that his best friend would never lie about something unless he had a damn good reason. Yet...

He was nervous. He could smell the fear and uncertainty wafting from Stiles as he walked under the AC across the room. He could hear him moving constantly, nervously, seemingly uncontrollably as the day wore on. It took every ounce of his self control not to pull him outside or call his dad to take him back to the doctor. This was more than just not taking medication, he knew that much. He needed to help and the first step to doing that is finding out what the problem was. 

Scott walked up to Stiles at his locker, and leaned against it.

"You ready?"

Stiles flailed, seemingly not having heard Scott walk up behind him. 

"Jesus Crist. Get a damn bell, Dude," Stiles laughed, holding a hand to his chest. 

"Sorry." He would have to work on that. "You ready to go to lunch?"

Stiles shrugged, smiling unconvincingly. "Yeah. It's that time, right?"

"I wasn't sure if you were going to come, honestly."

Stiles actually did consider skipping lunch. Not only to avoid Scott and all the stares he had been getting all day, but to hopefully get some research done. His friendship with Scott won out. He figured running from this would only delay the inevitable awkwardness. Plus, he was starving. He convinced himself that the less perturbed he acted about everything, the less people would dwell on it. Or he hoped anyway. 

"Let's just get it over with."

Today they were having pizza, or what they sacrilegiously deemed pizza. Stiles was appalled. It looked kind of like a totinos pizza, but the smell was weird. Wrong. Unnatural. And why were the sides corn and salad? Who eats pizza with corn and salad?He eyed his tray suspiciously as he made his way to the table. 

Stiles tried to ignore that the table fell quiet as he approached. 

"Stiles," Boyd greeted. 

"Hey. How's it going, guys?"

Everyone mumbled one worded variations of "good" or "blah." 

"How are you feeling?" Lydia asked, looking more curious than concerned. Stiles could understand that. "Dizziness? Confusion?"

"Nope. All dandy."

"What about your head? We heard you hit it pretty hard," Allison said, lips twisting in concern.

"I got checked out. They said I was fine."

"Are you having any-" 

Stiles cut Lydia off, with a tight smile. Stiles was already starting to regret coming. "I know you guys are trying to be nice, but can we please talk about anything else? I don't really want to do this right now."

He went down the line of the table, eyeing them, looking for any objection. Scott was looking down at her tray, heavy tension in his brow. When Stiles was satisfied, he replace his fake smile with a devious one. 

"Cool. So I uh heard you guys are predicted to lose against Darwin High."

Jackson scoffed, obviously miffed by the insinuation. "As if. Those preppy little posers will be lucky to make a score against us at all."

"I don't know. How are you guys going to manage without, Stanley?" Allison asked, then turned to Stiles. "He's their first string quarterback, out this week because of his grades."

"Yeesh. That's gotta suck," Stiles commented.

"It does," Isaac lamented. "Our back up isn't bad, but he's no Stanley."

"Nobody is Stanley," Scott agreed. "His reflexes are almost as good as ours."

Lydia shot Scott a look.

"Oh! Sorry, is that conceited to say?" Scott asked, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"It's not conceited if it's true," Jackson said.

He would say that, Stiles mused. 

"I just hope it's enough. If we win against Darwin I think we could make it to playoffs," Isaac said, excitedly.

"You guys will be fine," Lydia said, rolling her eyes. "You can all stop being dramatic, now."

"You think so?" Isaac asked, looking genuinely hopeful at her comment. 

"Of course. Jackson and I went over their statistics last night. He wouldn't quit bugging me about it," she said, matter of factly. Jackson didn't look pleased by her explanation, but didn't comment, his eyes training on something behind Stiles. 

"Hey, terror," he greeted with a bright smile. Stiles' brow furrowed in surprise. He didn't know Jackson could smile like that at anyone but the mirror. 

Stiles was even more shocked to see the source of his smile. Cora walked around the table, taking a seat beside Jackson. He reached up and tussled her straight brown hair, making it stand up in weird places. She scowled, trying to tame it, but there was a fond softness around her eyes. 

"Stop Jax. You know I hate that."

Stiles tried to ignore the odd feeling that poured into him at the sight of Cora , molten and comforting, as everyone greeted their friend. He could feel it coating his chest like a candy topping, but with feelings of subtle happiness and contentment, like coming home from a long trip. He had never felt anything quite like it before. 

Cora's cheeks were slightly pink and she looked a bit nervous, like she didn't want to look at Stiles, but wasn't sure where else to look. 

"Hey guys," she said back, clearing her throat, then looking up from her tray, holding the marinara covered cardboard lie up to her mouth. 

"Joining us today?" Lydia asked. 

"Yeah, I just had stuff to work on yesterday," Cora explained. She hoped her heart didn't skip a beat. She was telling the truth after all. Just not the whole truth. 

"Homework?" Jackson guessed. 

"Mountains of it." She answered. She thought about it a moment, flashing Scott a look, then rested her cheek on her palm. "I'm probably going to spend half the weekend working on stuff for one class or another. What are you guys going to be doing?"

Scott took a bite of his pizza, not paying attention to Cora's not-so-subtle conversation change. Allison nudged him with her shoe. His eyes widened and Allison flitted her eyes to Stiles suggestively.

"Oh!" Scott exclaimed. "Oh, I mean. Well, I was hoping we could all hang out this weekend, at least one night. Would you be cool with that Stiles?"

Boyd fought the urge to flick him in the forehead. 

"What? Me?" He asked, startled. 

"No, Allison. I just like calling her Stiles now. It fits her just so much better."

Stiles flushed. "I just didn't expect..." he shook his head. "Yeah. I mean, Dad will probably die of happiness if I can tell him I made friends my first week."

"Why don't we have a kind of welcome to Beacon Hills Party?" Cora asked.

Stiles perked up, almost reeking excitement, then his scent soured as he remembered yesterday's events. "You don't have to go to all that trouble for me."

"If it was trouble, we wouldn't offer," Lydia said, her sea green eyes insistent. 

"Lydia's house is literally made to party in," Isaac boasted.

Lydia shrugged. 

"I only wish we could do it more often," Erica said. "Getting shitty used to be my favorite pass time."

"Derek is a wet blanket for sure," Jackson added. 

"Oh so you guys only want a party for Alcohol then? I knew you guys had alternative motives," Stiles teased.

"No, we just want to get to know Scott's BFF," Allison said. 

"And you get your very own party out of it," Cora said. "You should be glad I thought of it."

Everyone scoffed indignantly, but Cora looked pleased with herself. Stiles didn't really understand it, but he went with it anyways s 

"Not fair by the way. Why does he get his own party?" Isaac pouted playfully. 

"I'm her chemistry partner, duh. I'm obviously her new favorite," Stiles said, shooting her a grin.

"I definitely wouldn't take it that far," Cora said, but there was no heat behind it. 

"Not yet, maybe, but I'll grow on you. Like a fungus. Because you know. I'm one fungi."

That pulled a collective groan from the table, Scott going so far as to punch him.

"Joke would've been better if we had biology together," Cora said, shrugging unimpressed.

"So what you'd rather have jokes about protons?" Stiles asked, acting shocked. "Are you positive about that?"

Cora rolled her eyes, laughing at his absurdity, and the others watched in quiet surprise. Nobody made Cora laugh like that. Not Jackson, not Isaac, not even Derek. Not that they saw anyway. They weren't even really sure they had seen an amused smile on her face before. It was mostly sneers or devious smirks. 

"Dude I hate your puns," Scott said, trying to fill the quietness of the table. 

"You aren't supposed to like puns," Stiles explained gesturing wildly. "That's the whole point."

"Yeah, it's like comedy pun-ishment," Cora added. 

Stiles cackled in delight, leaning across the table, hand raised expectantly for a high five. Cora's face fell, and she flinched away from the contact. When Stiles realized what happened he sat back down, trying to gain control of the flush and look on his face. 

"I'm sorry," he said, grabbing his fork. "I-I wasn't thinking." 

He stabbed at his salad and took a bite, trying to feign nonchalance. 

"No, it's okay. I just-" her mouth fell open, but she didn't know what to say. 

"Hey. Stop. It's cool. If I freaked myself out, I can't imagine being in your shoes. I can keep my hands to myself, no biggie. Unlike my buddy Scott here," Stiles said, motioning to the hand Scott was brushing against Allison. Both of them jumped away from each other and turned bright red, and Stiles shook him by the shoulder. 

"This party should be fun," Lydia preened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? I’d love to hear thoughts and theories, though it might be a bit early for that haha


	3. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheriff settles in at the station and an unexpected surprise rocks the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you haven’t noticed yet, I’ve definitely taken a few liberties with the original plot line and time frame. I kept what I wanted and made stuff not happen yet, while also changing some of the background stuff altogether. Hopefully everyone will be able to pick up on what has or hasn’t happened yet, according to what I’ve written. If you don’t understand something, just ask! 
> 
> Also.
> 
> Stiles curses a lot. I figured this was what his character would be like if he wasn’t limited by TV rules and regulations haha so hopefully you don’t hate me too much for that. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Torture, Blood, and Vomit. Sorry😬
> 
> Only crudely edited.

Noah Stilinski sat at his desk, absentmindedly making his way through the case files he hadn't been around to see the last ten years, a cup of coffee growing cold in his hand. It wasn't exactly a requirement to go over everything, but it never hurt to be in the know or get a fresh eye on old cases. His heart wasn't wholly in it though, no matter how hard he tried. He sighed, slapping the file currently in his hand on the desk and leaned back in his chair, a long creaking sound filling the silence. 

Noah's eyes burned with exhaustion, and he rubbed at them with his finger and thumb, wrinkles lining his forehead. Between what happened to Stiles, and that god-awful mattress he was sleeping on, he was having an even harder time than usual falling asleep. Being back in Beacon Hills made him feel dejavu in the worst way. If he was being frank, he never thought he would leave Sacramento after setting down roots, especially not for this place. It held too many memories, and not nearly as many good as bad. He never understood Stiles' obsession with the place, but he didn't understand a lot of went through his bull-headed kid's mind. 

On top of everything else was this case. For a killing this brutal, it wasn't usually hard to find motive. People don't just mutilate someone to that extent for no reason, and the culprit isn't usually quiet about their hatred either. With the first victim being the Sheriff though, that complicated things. There was no telling how many people he had gotten on the wrong side of. Noah could think of more than a few people who didn't like him, that's for sure. 

This new victim didn't seem to have any connection to the Sheriff either, other than living in Beacon Hills. Well, besides being completely shredded. For one thing, he was a florist. Not exactly the most dangerous occupation. He was a father of two, both of which were living out of state going to college. The other thing that stuck out was that there didn't seem to be any reason behind the killing. At least with their Sheriff, the killer had obviously wanted the file and money. This time, there didn't seem to be anything missing. 

There was a light knock on the door and John stood up from his desk to open it. Parrish, a man with short brown hair and striking blue eyes was standing behind it, his posture rigged, but as far as Noah could tell, that was his default. Ex-military if John had to guess, but he couldn't be sure. They hadn't exchanged much past casual pleasantries yet, despite being the deputy that was recommended to be his new second in command. 

"Sheriff. There was a call for you at the front desk. Tara went ahead and gave him your direct line. I just wanted to let you know so you expected it."

"Stiles?" He guessed. 

"Yes sir," Parrish answered, succinctly. 

Noah nodded. "Okay. Thanks."

Parrish lingered, his eyes slightly averted to the big box of files on the table and Noah raised a brow. 

"I could help you look over those," Parrish offered, nodding his head to the pile. "I've only been here two years, but I know most of the cases, or at the very least, I know most of the people involved. Mostly repeat offenders around here."

Noah shook his head with a sigh. "Thank you, but if I don't go over every line, some things just don't click like they're supposed to. I appreciate the offer, though."

Parrish gave a curt nod, and when he still didn't leave, Noah opened the door even wider. "Why don't you come take a seat?"

Parrish hesitated but ultimately stepped inside. Parrish looked around the room, his chin up ticking and his nose twitched slightly. Noah frowned at the leftover dish in the corner of the room. Maybe he should rinse that off. 

The door clicked shut and Noah stepped over to his desk, sitting down and motioning Parrish to do the same. Parrish did so, and Noah studied his face. "How can I help you?"

Parrish looked uncomfortable. Actually, he looked worse than uncomfortable. He looked downright pained, and that didn't make any sense to him. 

Parrish looked over at the picture of Stiles and Claudia tacked onto the cork board behind Noah and his frown deepened. The edges of the pictures were worn down, the color faded and one corner torn. 

"Is that your son?"

Noah leaned back in his chair and looked over at the picture, his heart squeezing painfully tight in his chest. The picture was taken when Stiles was four, out at the lake a few miles out of Beacon Hills. Claudia was swinging on one of the porch swings they had overlooking the water, and Stiles was grinning with chocolate covering his face, nestled contentedly in Claudia's arms with her chin resting in his hair. 

It was a good day, one of the last times he remembered things being normal. The picture had been a spur of the moment thing, as Claudia was the one that usually took the pictures, and it was probably the only one he had of the two by themselves. He was glad took it, now. It was nice to have a reminder of the better times. 

"It is. He's a bit bigger now," Noah opened his desk and pulled out a newer picture. It was just one of those school pictures with the fake foliage background he'd bought from the school photo package the year before, but it was still a good picture. He handed it over and Parrish took it. 

Noah's eyes widened at the sudden flash of color in Parrish's eyes, but as soon as it had come it was gone. Noah stared unblinking, waiting for it to happen again, but when it didn't, he chalked it up to a trick of the light.

"I'm sorry, not that I don't mind idle chit chat, but did you need something? It's okay if you need to talk about something. I'm not sure how things worked with the old Sheriff, but if you have something on your mind, I'm all ears. I like to know what is going on in my station," Noah said, holding Parrish's gaze and hoping he could feel the sincerity of it. 

Parrish nodded, then looked back to the picture one more time before handing it back. When he finally found the words to say, his voice rang with a certainty that Noah couldn't bring himself to doubt. "I hate coming to you without any evidence, and you have no reason to trust what I'm saying, but I thought I should tell you anyway. I don't know why, but I've got a feeling the reason that whoever killed the last Sheriff may have had something to do with you."

*****

The rest of the week passed almost entirely without incident. Stiles would say almost because spilling his entire cup of tea at lunch with his flailing had been pretty stinking embarrassing, and finding that he had more or less become Harris' least favorite student so quickly should have come with some kind of medal or something. He couldn't complain though. No more seizures. No more floaty lights. Just normal awkwardness and anxiety. 

It was weird, though. After lunch on Tuesday, he went from feeling like he was going to burst, to his normal grade of ADHD symptoms and hadn't had another issue with it since. Maybe that morning he was still having some aftershocks or something. 

Lunch period did a pretty good job of distracting Stiles from the banality of high school and the unexpected and unprecedented loneliness that came with harboring his secret meltdown and the nightmares that came with it. Scott tried to get him to talk about it more, of course, but he managed to brush him off with assurances that he felt a lot better now. Scott seemed to take his word for it, even though he knew Scott still looked at him worriedly every once in a while. Everyone else seemed more than excited to talk about the upcoming party plans and by Thursday, Cora no longer seemed averse to Stiles' proximity. 

Stiles had friends. As in, more than one. Allison seemed more than willing to hang around with him, and even if it was originally just to make Scott happy, he was starting to think they could really get along even if Scott wasn't there. Lydia seemed to be using him as a human soundboard, bouncing off ideas and theories about everything from math to ancient civilizations, but he had to admit, they were the most interesting and stimulating conversations he'd ever had. Isaac he didn't have a good read on as far as their friendship went, but he could tell that something had happened to him in the past by the way he shrunk away sometimes, and covered anything uncomfortable with sarcasm. It hit a little too close to home for him not to recognize and it made Stiles want to be there for him, even when he was being kind of a dick. Erica, despite being one of the most promising of the group day one, had apparently decided to ignore him completely, which meant Boyd didn't talk much either, but he hoped they would come around. Jackson was kind of a jerk, but he was still kind of fun to be around. Cora was like a double edged sword. Their personalities meshed really well, but after everything that happened the first day, they were both a little hesitant to let it show. She did, however, take him up on his tutoring, and they spent most of their free period together going over her notes or the previous day's homework. 

As much as he liked hanging out with the ragtag group, he couldn't help but feel like he was on a secret trial run. They seemed contented enough to allow him to sit with at their table, but he could sense there was a line drawn in the metaphorical sand between he and them. They were more than happy to talk about Stiles, but even after a week of being around them, he realized he didn't know much about them outside of what they told him that first day. 

He didn't know what Allison did after school that kept her so busy that she was beginning to stress about her grades. He didn't know who Cora and Erica rode together with every day after school, or why Boyd came in half asleep two mornings. He asked them why they looked so tense Wednesday morning, but they said it was nothing and started to make plans for the party. Stiles knew deflection when he saw it, though. He just didn't understand why. 

Saturday morning, Scott had offered to pick him up with the others for the party around 8, but he didn't like the idea of not having his car there or having to rely on someone else to take him home. Not that he didn't trust Scott, but apparently Stiles' picking on Scott had actually managed to help him. From what he could tell, he and Allison were definitely looking more couple-y and less awkward crush-y, and who knows what their plans for the night would be. He didn't want to be the one to get between them if they finally managed to admit their feelings.

Stiles was sitting at his desk, his laptop open in front of him, the dozen tabs sitting open in front of him. He already read through every possible source. Took advantage of the school library, and their online databases, but still there was nothing he could find that mimicked his symptoms. 

"Stiles?" The front door shut, his dad's keys jangling at his side. Stiles tore away from his laptop, finding it much easier now that he was out of sources to check for the time being. He stepped into the kitchen to see his dad setting down two bags of groceries and he quickly took over, pulling the items out of the bags and putting them away. Noah seemed to appreciate it, sitting at the kitchen table with a thankful smile. 

"Learn anything else about the new body?" Stiles asked as he shut the gallon of tea in the fridge. 

Noah shook his head. "Nothing."

Stiles waited expectantly, then opened his mouth and shut it again, pressing his lips together with a look. "Uhm, that's it? I know you usually don't talk about cases but I figured you'd give me a little more than that."

"I can't give you anything if there's nothing to give, son," Noah said, patiently. His talk with Parrish was something, but he didn't want to get Stiles worked up until it was more than just a hunch. "Do you have any plans for today or are you going to stay locked up in your room?"

Stiles clicked his tongue, twisting his hands together. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask you if you minded if I went to a party tonight."

Noah just stared at him, taking a drink of his coffee. 

"It's not a big thing, or anything. Just a few friends. Scott will be there," he offered out. "It's at Lydia Martin's house. You remember Lydia, right?"

Noah rolled his eyes. "How could I forget?"

Stiles let out an embarrassed wince. 

"Alcohol?"

"No. Absolutely not," Stiles said a bit too hurriedly. Noah raised a brow and Stiles deflated. "I mean, maybe a little? Definitely not enough to get drunk. I don't have to drink, if that'll change your mind though."

Noah sighed. "I know I don't have to tell you that being the Sheriff comes with expectations. People don't want a man who can't keep his own child under control to be at the head of their department. You also know that this job is the only reason we are here."

"They won't be advertising it, dad. They are kind of an exclusive group. Think the Avengers of pretty people."

"How exclusive can they be if you're invited? You've been here a week," Noah said, amused. 

Stiles nodded his head back and forth, like he was weighing that thought. He had a point. "Yeah, well. I think it’s only because I'm friends with Scott. I don’t have full admittance yet."

”And this party will help you get it?”

”I hope. Maybe,” he said.

"Fine. You can go, but be responsible. Call me when your done and I'll pick you up."

"Actually, Lydia was going to let us all stay the night, if that's okay."

Noah hid his surprise well, under the guise of contemplation. Stiles hadn't ever asked to stay the night with anyone, not since he was a child. Maybe moving back was a good idea. "That should be fine. I don't have to tell you I'll string you from the roof of the building if you knock anyone up?"

Stiles sputtered, his face red. "God, dad. You have way too much confidence in me. I don't think we will have to worry about that."

Stiles made his dad lunch before he went to go lay down for a few hours before heading back to the station. His hours were really off the wall right now, just until they could get everything sorted out. Having two murders and the DA breathing down his neck didn't necessarily make for the easiest transition. 

Around 7 o'clock, Stiles got ready to leave. Stiles wasn't sure what he was expecting, considering they all had different ideas for what kind of party they were wanting. As soon as Boyd found out Lydia had a smoker, he was wanting to have a cook out, but Erica wanted to dance and rave, and of course Lydia wanted to have more of a typical punch and music and mingling kind of things.

Stiles took a quick shower then just threw on his typical ensemble on after staring at his closet for fifteen minutes, then headed out after one more quick look in the mirror. 

Stiles made the last minute decision to stop at the convenience store to grab snacks, feeling weird about showing up to something like this empty handed. He went to a few parties before this, but never with people he really had any hopes of getting close to. Even if they did cook, it wouldn't hurt to bring a few things, though it did put a big pain right in his worn out wallet. Two bags of Cheetos, three types of Doritos, Funyuns, at least 10 types of candy, and $60 later, he was walking back to the car. He figured it would be worth the dent in his allowance if they kept him in their circle. 

Stiles was just about to shut the door when he saw Erica and Boyd walking down the street, toward Lydia's, hand in hand as they strolled lackadaisically.

“Hey!” He hollered at them, waving his limbs up and down, trying to get their attention, but neither of them seemed to notice. He dropped them by his side and sighed, then hurried into his car. Maybe he could finally get on their good side if he gave them a ride.

Stiles had just started his car when he heard what could only be gunshots, deafeningly close, and ducked down instinctively, throwing his hands over his head. He waited. No glass shattered. No metal creaked. He looked around wildly, eyes searching for the source of the sound with his heart hammering in his chest. His eyes locked on to a van, dark grey and windowless, which had pulled up beside where Erica and Boyd were just standing. 

"No," he whispered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He could hear the faint sound of the door slamming shut and the van spun off, leaving nothing but empty woods behind it. Stiles cursed again, hurriedly pulling his gear shift into reverse, peeling out of the parking lot and ignoring the angry honking from behind him. Boyd and Erica were just freaking kidnapped in broad daylight!

His car protested at the increase in acceleration when he hit the road, but the van had turned and he was not going to lose them. He couldn’t. He glanced anxiously from the road to his passenger seat were his phone had been, but he apparently knocked it into the floor. 

Stiles finally let himself breathe when he caught back up to the van and he had to force himself to slow down, despite every bone in his body screaming to ram the shit out of them and get their asses out of there. He doubted that would really work if those people had guns though, so he held back. If he was going to help them, really help them, he didn't need whoever had them to know they were being followed, not until he could call his dad. 

There was no license plate, no distinguishing markers of any kind, and Stiles was surprised to find that they were heading back into town. It didn't seem like the brightest idea to flaunt an illegal car with kidnapped kids in it where just anyone could catch them, but hopefully that meant that these guys hadn’t read “Villany for Dummies.” If they were stupid, or at the very least amateurs, that would only help his chances. His brows furrowed, suspicions heightening, when the van drove right by a police car parked on the side of the road. Stiles' grip tightened, his lips pressed together in a tight line. Something was not right. 

A few minutes later, the van pulled up to a beautiful but unsuspecting house at the end of the road, taking a small dirt path around the side of the house. He continued driving past it, making the loop back around to the beginning of the street, parking on the street between two houses that didn't look to have anyone home. 

Stiles looked around, making sure nobody was watching before he reached over the console and looked on the floorboard for his phone. He cursed his luck, yet again, when he found it, toward the very front of the car. He sat up, fumbling to unbuckle himself so he could reach it. His fingers just barely touched it even without the seatbelt holding him back, and he had to drag it back, little by little, then sat up victoriously. 

"Fuck," he huffed, out of breath. "I need to hit the gym or something."

A tapping on the glass make him nearly jump out of his skin, and when he looked up, Stiles' blood turned to ice. A police officer stood outside his car door, bending down to look at Stiles. Stiles wondered for about half a second if it could be a coincidence, but instinct promptly told him no, and that was good enough for him. The officer took off his sunglasses and gave Stiles a disapproving look. 

"Sir, are you aware there have been a series of break ins in this neighborhood?"

Stiles just gaped at him, unable to hear through the rushing of blood in his ears. He willed a lie to spill from his lips, but nothing came.

"Sir," the officer repeated, knocking with his knuckle again. Stiles spazzed in his seat. 

"I'm just picking up a friend," he mumbled. 

The officer raised a brow, obviously not buying it. "At a house where nobody is home?"

Stiles forced a nod. "Their parents are gone. I'll just give them a quick call. They should be right out."

The officer's face darkened, and he glanced at the phone before leaning in closer. "Why don't you just step outside, kid? We can figure this out out here."

Stiles ignored him, unlocking his phone with shaking hands. He opened up his phonebook, and the police officer pulled at the door handle. Stiles jumped, and he almost fumbled his phone, just barely managing to catch it. 

"Open up!" The officer yelled, jerking over and over on the door handle. Stiles scrolled through his ensuing panic until he was at his dad's number. The officer pulled something out from the corner of his eyes and the next moment Stiles was covered in glass, leaving dozens of small cuts on his left arm.

The officer swiped the phone from Stiles' hand, slamming it on the ground, Stiles letting out a noise of incredulity when he heard the crunch of glass. He had to save for months to get that phone! 

“Dude!”

"Sorry. You should’ve stayed home," the officer said, shoving a taser into Stiles' side until everything went black.

****

Scott and Isaac stood over a giant plastic tote bin sitting on the built in bar on the far side of the kitchen, pouring in the myriad of different alcohols they managed to get their hands on into it, slices of oranges, lemons, strawberries, pineapple and crushed purple flowers floating to the top. Lydia was busy setting out a snack bar, while Allison laid out a pallet of foam and blankets in the livingroom they usually used at the Pack house when they had to stay overnight. 

"Aren't we supposed to pour juice in, too?" Scott asked, wincing at the mixture of whiskey, ever clear, and various fruit flavored liquors. “This just smells like the outside alley of a bar.”

"No!" Jackson snapped. "We have a hard enough time getting drunk as it is. You can suck it up or drink the bitch beer Derek bought Stiles."

"Smirnoff isn't bitch beer," Allison said as she walked into the room. "It's good."

“Fine. It’s only bitch beer when Stiles drinks it,” He said as he walked over to Cora and hopped up on the counter beside her. They shared a not-so-secret down low high five though, and Allison rolled her eyes. 

"Just don't let the kid drink that shit," Derek ordered, pointing at Scott sternly. "The last thing we need is the Sheriff breaking down our door because we killed his son."

Scott leveled him with what Scott probably thought was a glare, but what came off as an angry pout. "I know, Derek. I don't WANT my best friend to die, believe it or not." 

"Where the hell is everyone anyway?" Cora asked, frowning. 

Everyone was told to be there by eight, yet Danny, Stiles, Erica and Boyd were nowhere to be found. 

"Danny will be late. His mom wanted him to eat dinner with them before he came," Jackson said. “You know how they are.”

"Erica and Boyd were doing a perimeter check before they headed over," Derek said, looking out into the backyard through the glass door. "They should be here any minute."

"And Stiles?" Cora asked Scott. 

Scott just shrugged, unperturbed by his lateness. "He probably lost his keys again. Either that or overthinking everything."

Lydia gave Scott a flat look. "Like what?"

"His outfit, what to bring, how to make you guys like him," Scott said, stirring the last of the drinks together. He scooped a little into his glass and took a sip, grimacing. 

"I highly doubt Stiles worries about how he dresses," Lydia said, taking a sip from her bottle of Rosè. Allison held out her hand and Lydia handed it over. "Nobody who makes a conscious effort wears plaid."

"And we already like Stiles," Cora argued. "He knows that."

Derek shook his head at them, checking the clock. This night better work. He didn't know if he could handle spending all night with everyone and their heart-on-their-sleeve emotions just to walk away empty handed. 

Scott snorted. "Yeah, I don't know about that. Stiles has definitely noticed how everyone avoids him."

"It's not our fault we can't tell him things. We want to but until we know we can all trust him, it's just better to keep our distance," Allison said, looking a little hurt. 

Scott gave her an apologetic smile. "Doesn't mean he doesn't notice it."

The room went quiet as rolled that around their heads. 

"He is kind of dorky," Jackson said after a moment. Cora punched his arm, but that only made him smile.

Derek sat down at the kitchen table and after a few more minutes of listening to their playful bickering, pulled out his phone to call Boyd. The phone rang and rang and rang until it finally went to voicemail. Derek’s already profound frown deepened as he tried again to no avail. He closed his eyes and reached for their bonds, trying to get an idea of what they were feeling, but there was nothing. Not happiness, contentment, or even boredom. 

"Scott, call Stiles. Somebody else call Erica and Danny."

"I literally just talked to Danny," Jackson said, holding up his phone. "He will be here soon. What's going on?"

"Boyd isn't answering," he said. 

Lydia held her phone up to her ear, and waited then pulled it away, shaking her head. "Erica didn't answer either."

Scott hit the call button once, twice, three times, scowling at his phone. "It's going straight to voicemail."

"What does that mean?" Cora asked. "They could just be late, right?"

Derek nodded but grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair. "Probably."

Allison flinched, putting the bottle on the bar. "Anyone else feel like that meant probably not?"

Lydia shook her head. "It definitely meant probably not."

****

Stiles woke up to the sound of screaming, shrill and broken. 

The room was dim and dingy, the only light coming from a caged bulb mounted on the far side of the wall. Stiles tried to wiped away the bleariness of his eyes, but when he went to move, thick, grainy rope gnawed at his bruising skin, making him hiss in pain.

He could hear rattling, but he couldn't raise his head well enough to see where it was coming from. 

"You're awake."

Stiles blinked a few times, and there was a face in front of his. It wasn't the officer, which should have left him feeling relieved, but it didn't. The guy, older and rugged looking, didn't seem to worried that he was strung up by his wrists, so he couldn't be too much better.

"Yep," he croaked. "I heard breakfast was included. Do I get that now or later?"

The man’s lip curled, obviously not amused by Stiles rather witty remark. In fact, he looked pissed. Both of the he’s Stiles currently saw did. 

"Leave him alone," a male voice demanded from the far side of the room. Stiles tried to lift his head, but the sedative hadn't quite faded enough for that. "He's human."

That was weird. Wasn't everyone? Well maybe not the creep in front of him, but for some reason he doubted they were debating the timeless “what is humanity, really?” question. The psychopath seemed to notice his confusion and grinned a little to sinister for him to look like a real person, and more like a comic book character. 

"You don't know, do you?" He asked, sounding absolutely delighted by that fact. He grabbed Stiles' face, smushing his cheeks together and lifted his head until he was looking from where the voice was coming from. With his free hand, he pulled out a remote, and pressed a button, causing the distant humming to stop, and panting, relieved noises to started filling the empty space it left behind. 

”Know what?”

Stiles was still seeing double, but his eyes widened when they met their intended target. Erica and Boyd, bruised and bloody, looking a more than a little worse for wear, were up against a metal fence, shaking from a mixture of exhaustion and pain. 

"What they are. Hit them. Show him their real faces," Psychopath ordered the man in the corner of the room. The officer. Great. Things were just getting better. 

"What? No!" Stiles barked at the dude. "Leave them alone, you fucker." 

The officer ignored him, taking the baton out of his belt and cracking it against Boyd's face. The instant his head snapped back, his face was wrong. Erica's changed too, snarling(like genuinely, snarling, teeth and everything) in anger at the man. Their faces wasn’t even what bothered him. Not the fangs or the distorted features. What got to Stiles, what made him suddenly think he was going to throw up, was the golden glow in the darkness. 

Their eyes...they were just like his mom's. The eyes that haunted him year after year, no matter how many psychiatrists he was forced to see. The same golden orbs that hovered over him, before shoving a pillow over his face to suffocate him. 

"They're wolves," Psychopath explained, sneering at the agonized confusion he mistook for disgust on Stiles’ face. "Monsters."

Erica and Boyd both looked scared and ashamed at the word, flinching away when Psychopath looked at them. That look of vulberability kicked him out of his surprise and confusion into something much more comfortable. Anger. 

"Them?" Stiles spat, incredulous. "You're the one torturing innocent kids."

"They kill people."

”He’s lying!” Erica yelled. “We’ve never hurt anyone!”

”Yet. You haven’t hurt anyone _yet_. It’s only a matter of time. It’s in their genes.” 

"And what the hell do you do? Invite people for tea parties? I doubt you're about to just break out the crumpets, dude,” Stiles snarked. 

Psychopath frowned, hatred making his eyes darken. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I do," Stiles insisted, and he was surprised to find he meant it. They may not be human, but they were his friends, whether they knew that yet or not. "And I can't wait until I can get out of here and rip your throat out."

The officer lunched forward, hitting him so hard he thought his jaw was going to pop off. "To hell with this. If he is a sympathizer, he’s just as bad as them. Let's just kill him and get it over with."

Psychopath debated for a moment, then pulled out a gun, pressing it painfully into Stiles' temple.

Stiles' heart stuttered in his chest, panic threatening to pull all of the air from his lungs. 

"No! Leave him alone," Erica shrieked, pulling frantically at her shackles. 

Gerard kept his eyes trained on Stiles, but handed the remote to the officer. He was more than happy to turn the electricity on, but that only seemed to make Erica's shrieking louder. 

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek, thoughts flying through his mind. He needed to think. He needed to make the man want him alive. Stiles' mind kept coming back to the same idea, but he wasn't sure if it was going to make things worse or better. 

Before he could stop himself, his mouth pulled into a huge, almost manic grin. "Guess you'll never figure out what I am then."

Psychopath tilted his head, suddenly interested as he searched Stiles' face. He sounded almost mystified when he spoke. "And what would that be?"

Stiles scoffed. "Yeah, because I'm going to tell you. It's my leverage dude. You'll have to figure that shit out yourself."

"What makes you think I care?"

Stiles shrugged. "Do you?"

Psychopath frowned, glaring at him. Stiles forced the smile to stay on his face, even though he was beginning to get nervous. He was playing a dangerous game. 

"Nichols. Hook him up to the electricity, but lower it a bit. We don't want to kill him just yet." Stiles felt a jolt of panic, but tried to keep it off of his face. Psychopath smiled sweetly. "Maybe you'll want to talk after a few hours of that."

Stiles shrugged, but his voiced wavered. "Yeah. Maybe. Probably not though."

Psychopath turned, walking up the stairs as the officer, Nichols, hooked him up. 

"So, uh, no chance I can talk you out of letting us all go, huh?" Stiles asked, conversationally. 

The man gave him a self-satisfied smile then flipped the switch on. “Not a change in hell.”

Stiles' whole body locked up, electricity shooting through his veins like fire. His teeth clacked together so hard he was sure they were going to crumble, his nails curling under the skin of his palm. 

"Oops," the man said with a sadistic grin, turning down the voltage. "My bad."

Stiles felt the electricity lower, but it was like he he already forgot how to breathe. By the time he finally managed to suck in a breath, he was seeing spots in his vision and the man was gone, the dim light that lit the room off, leaving them in total darkness. His body was shaking, and his jaw was sore from the strain.

"Stiles?" Boyd reached, quietly. 

"Still here big guy.” 

Erica laughed wetly in relief. 

“So werewolves, huh?" He asked through his teeth. "That's kind of cool. Would've been nice to know."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Erica asked. 

"Saw you get taken," Stiles panted, squeezing his eyes shut. "Followed."

"Did you call anyone?" Boyd asked, hopefully.

He shook his head. "Cop Dickhead broke my phone. Dad thinks I'm gone for the night. Definitely fucked."

They both sat in silence until curiousity got the best of Boyd. 

"What are you?" He asked, making Stiles laugh.

"Human. Psychopath doesn't need to know that though.

Erica growled threateningly. "You're lying. We saw your eyes."

"He’s not lying. Listen to his heartbeat," Boyd said. 

"He is being electrocuted," Erica pointed out. “His heart is already beating fast. I don’t think a lie would be enough to change that.” Boyd had to concede at that.

Stiles forced himself to open his eyes and looked over at the two of them. They were both still quaking, pained pinches in their brows, but waiting expectantly for an answer Stiles didn't know if he had. 

"What about my eyes?" Stiles asked, hesitantly. 

"They're glowing," Boyd answered, like he suddenly thought Stiles was slow or something. 

"Like, right now," Erica added, helpfully.

Stiles huffed in disbelief, but after a moment, he looked down and saw the very edge of the symbol on his neck. Glowing eyes, the septagram..Maybe he wasn't crazy after all. The realization wasn't nearly as soothing as he expected. "Well, fuck."

*****

Derek was running. He could smell Erica and Boyd in the air, and he was getting close. He could hear the sound of Isaac and Jackson following close behind, a few yards back. He wished he could have had the whole group, but he didn’t argue when rest of the group offered stayed behind just in case any of them showed up. No such luck so far. 

The scent was getting stronger. 

Derek pushed himself harder, his muscles just starting to protest when he found it, right at the edge of the trees, by the road. He slowed, shifting back just in case anyone passed by, and stepped out, sniffing. 

"They were here," Jackson echoed his thoughts, his eyes glowing. 

Derek looked around in the direction it was coming from. "Their scent just stops here. They came from there."

”What happened?” Jackson asked. “They couldn’t just disappear. Maybe they backtracked.”

Derek frowned. Growing up in a family of born wolves, he sometimes forgot how different bitten wolves were. Being a wolf, for him, was second nature. He grew into his senses, depending on instinct and his mother’s guidance to learn how to navigate the world over years. The others didn’t have that luxury. Where some things were glaringly obvious to him, they didn’t have the experience or trust in their instincts to notice them.

“No,” he said. “Use your nose. The scent here is weaker than over there. If they backtracked it would get stronger. This was the last spot they were in. I’m sure of it.”

Isaac lifted his head to smell for himself, and frowned as the breeze passed. It was familiar. It took him a moment to recognize it, but when he did he let out a low, more animalistic than human, whine. That was not good.

Derek turned to him, quirking his head. “What?”

"The smell. I can't be sure, but-" Isaac shook his head. He wasn’t going to be the one to say it. He refused to believe it. Scott would be heartbroken. Derek waited then turned to Jackson expectantly.

”Am I missing something here?”

Jackson waited until the breeze blew again and focused in, trying to filter through the dozen other smells until he found what he was looking for. He cursed under his breath. “Of fucking course.” 

"What?" Derek demanded again. “If I have to ask again, I’m sending both of your asses home.” 

"Chill the fuck out, dude. It’s Stiles. He was over there," Jackson said, pointing to the parking lot. 

”You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure. It’s just like they said. Weirdo smells like freaking dirt.” 

Derek’s lips turned up as he growled, unsheathing his claws. He should have known better than to trust a human. He knew better, but he let his sister and the others talk him into giving the kid a chance. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. And he was going to kill Scott. 

****

Stiles was going to figure out a way out of here. No way was he going to die in some asshole's weird ass sex dungeon. Not today. How he was going to manage that, he wasn't sure, but he knew he wouldn't be able to get out on his own. After telling Erica and Boyd about his weird experiences the last week, he leveled them with a look. 

"I need to know everything you know about what you can do."

Boyd hesitated. "How do we know you aren't with them?"

Stiles gave him an incredulous look, shaking his hands where they were tied above his head. "This not a good enough clue for you?”

Boyd was not impressed.

”Look. I just want to get out. For us to do that, I need to know everything we can use."

Erica and Boyd exchanged glances, then relented. They weren’t 100% sure about him, but they knew they had 0 chances of getting out on their own. The odds won out in favor of Stiles. He would probably feel better about that if he wasn’t currently tied up, but you know what, take your wins when you can get them.

It only took about 15 minutes for them to explain everything. They told him about their weaknesses to wolfsbane and electricity, their strengths, which was way more than Stiles could have hoped, and their bonds to the rest of the pack. That seemed the most promising, but of course, that went up in flames too. 

"That's perfect! Can't you just call Scott and everyone here?" Stiles interrupted in the middle of Boyd’s sentence. 

"We've tried. They have something blocking it," Boyd said, impatiently.

Stiles sighed, but another plan was already forming in his head. Hopefully one that might actually work, but just in case, he started working on C, D, and E as well. 

"Do you have any idea where we are?" He asked.

Erica and Boyd shook their heads. 

"We were knocked out," Erica grumbled, more angry at herself than anything. "They shot us with tranquilizers and wolfsbane."

"Okay. It's fine," Stiles said. "I think I could probably figure it out once we're outside."

"What are we going to do?" She asked. 

"Well, first of all, when he comes in here, I need you two to focus on your healing voodoo."

Erica growled. "We can't exactly do that if we are being electrocuted, Stiles."

"Right, which is why I'm going to make him turn them off," Stiles said, starting to lose his own temper. "Hopefully. You said your stuff is laced with wolfsbane right?"

They nodded.

"Okay. I'm going to try to get him to focus all of his energy on me. Keep your mouths shut. Don't antagonize him. Whatever happens to me, just focus on healing. Then you'll have to break out."

"That isn't going to work. Wolfsbane makes us weak. Can't you just magic us out?" Erica asked. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I'm not Harry Potter, and we aren't sure even sure I have magic. How the hell do you expect I do that?"

"You could try to figure it out," Boyd said. 

Stiles fumed, wishing he could drag his hands down his face. "I don't know how I'd even start to try. Am I not speaking English right now?"

"Then we probably won't make it out of here," Boyd said. 

"I'm sorry," he bit out, hating that the words tasted so foul on his tongue. "I don't know what else to do."

Both Boyd and Erica fell silent again, hopelessness starting to seem like a reasonable fallback. Stiles tried to push the pain out of his mind, and dampen down his irritation, but it was hard to think about anything with the pain shooting through every molecule. Boyd was probably right. If he didn't figure something out, they were screwed, but it wasn't his fault he didn't know what the hell he was.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said again, this time sounding much more genuine.

“I’ll try to listen in. Figure out how many people are out there,” Boyd responded. The silence felt less oppressive after that. Stiles closed his eyes, trying to think of another plan, and Boyd was listening in. It wasn’t much, but it felt like more than it had a few minutes ago. Stiles didn’t try to listen in when he heard Boyd and Erica start whispering quietly to each other, but he wasn’t surprised when the silence finally broke. 

"When I was younger, before all of the werewolf stuff, I used to have seizures," Erica said, softly, just loud enough that Stiles knew that the words were meant for him. She was frowning at the ground when he tried to meet her eyes. "Really bad ones. I-I wasn't always like this. I know I can act kind of rude sometimes and that I’m a bit of a handful, but for the first time in my life I feel like I can be who I want to be. Just, unapologetically me, I guess. Being bitten gave me another chance at life, and I took it. It made me a werewolf, but it also made me more confident in myself. Before I was just this-this weak shell of myself. Nobody talked to me, and I didn’t know if I wanted them to. It would just be another in a long line of disappointments when they realized I was just the quiet weird girl who pissed herself."

Stiles actually remembered hearing about that, vaguely, though he hadn’t put it together in his mind that she was the girl from his memories. He remembered everyone’s hushed whispers about the poor little girl who couldn't go to the holiday parade because of all the lights. He remembered it mostly because he remembered how sad he felt for her, because the parade was one of the best things about living in Beacon Hills, and he couldn’t imagine not being able to go with Scott. 

"I'm sorry I've been ignoring you. Hearing about you just brought up a lot that I didn’t want to remember. It wasn’t you I was avoiding. I wanted you to know. Just in case."

Stiles didn’t want to think about it too much, but it made sense, now, the way she didn't talk to him at all the day after he seized in class. It must have been hard for her, too.

"Being a werewolf didn’t make you what you are,” Stiles said, his voice thick. “It may have given you the confidence to grow into yourself, but you’ve always been a badass.”

Erica laughed, but it crackled with heavy emotion. 

“What?” Stiles asked.

”I tell her that all the time,” Boyd answered, smiling.

”Smart guy,” Stiles laughed softly. He cleared his throat. "Which is precisely why we are going to be okay. We're gunna superhero our way out of this and then we can start over. Do it right this time."

"Superhero?" Boyd asked, skeptically. 

"Of course. I'm clearly the Batman type."

"I call WonderWoman," Erica smiled. 

"Hell no. You're definitely Catwoman," Stiles protested. 

"Fine. Catwoman then."

*****

"What do we do now?" Jackson asked. 

Derek snarled. "We find him and rip his throat out."

Jackson and Isaac looked a little uncomfortable at the thought. 

"It could be a coincidence," Isaac offered, though he didn't sound convinced himself. "This is the closest convenience store to Lydia's house."

"He's not at Lydia's though," Jackson said, his eyes hard. "If he was here, why wasn't he there already?"

"Should we call Scott?" Isaac asked. 

Derek shook his head. "Let's follow their trail, see if we can find anything."

****

It had to be at least an hour before Psychopath finally came back down, but then again, he couldn't be sure. It felt like a hell of a lot longer than that. By then Stiles was almost falling asleep, even with the pain. Almost all of his weight was being held by his wrists from the pole above his head, and it was taking everything Erica could think of to keep him awake. 

The sound of footsteps perked him up. There was no light at all shining down the stairs this time, which he expected, but depending how far they moved him, it could make it harder to find their way back to his car.

"Ready to talk yet?" He asked. 

"Sure. Are you talking go-to dating spots or favorite color? I'm guessing you're a vermilion type, since you're bloodthirsty and all that."

Psychopath reared back and backhanded him so quickly Stiles didn’t even have time to brace for the hit, the force of it splitting his lip and making his cheek throb. 

"Okay. Take that back. Yellow like sunshine and daisies," Stiles muttered, licking the tender spot with a wince. 

"If you aren't ready to talk then I'm going back upstairs," he warned. 

"How about we talk like adults, then? I'll tell you something, if you turn the electricity off of my friends. Compromise makes the world go round."

"And why shouldn't I just beat it out of you?"

Stiles grinned, blood covering his teeth. "How well is that working for you so far?"

Psychopath glowered but pulled out the remote, turning it down, but not all the way off. It was enough that it was no longer agonizing, but by the way Boyd looked at him, he could tell it wasn’t enough. 

"There. It’s lower.”

”I know you’re old and all, but I distinctly remember saying off, not down.” 

“That's the best I can do," He said. “Take it or leave it. I’d think wisely before you make your decision.”

Stiles sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, working to steeling himself. This wasn’t going to work if they couldn’t heal themselves, but he was already on thin ice, he could tell. Then again, it wouldn’t matter what kind of ice he was on if he couldn’t get them out. 

"Wise isn’t really my thing. If it isn’t off, I’m not talking."

That was obviously not the right answer. Psychopath tapped on the controller in thought, then walked over to a small closet near the entryway of the room and opened it. Stiles couldn't quite see what was inside it, even with the lights now on, but whatever it was couldn't be good. Erica paled, and Boyd's face went completely blank. Stiles scuffed his shoe against the ground to get their attention, and he gave them a firm shake of the head. The focus was on him. Whatever was in that closet would keep it there, as long as they kept quiet. They both reluctantly nodded. 

"What to use, what to use," he sung on an out breath. Metal clanked against metal as he dug his way around until he made a pleased noise and pulled out a knife. A really big, really pointy knife, slipping it into the back of his belt for Stiles to see clear as day. He then began rummaging again, setting out some very scary looking weapons for Stikes to see before settling on something. "This should work, no matter what you are."

Stiles craned his neck to see what it was as he shut the doors, but it wasn't until he turned that he saw what he held. A whip.

Stiles swallowed. A whip. Okay. It couldn't be that bad, right? He'd handled worse. Psychopath walked around him, the long way, avoiding getting close to Erica and Boyd, and held Stiles still with one hand as he latched the rope around his feet to the ground. 

"So, not to burst your bubble or anything, but kink discussion is a must before engaging in BDSM. Consent too, if we're talking proper etiquette. Or just propriety in general. Just so you know, this is me not consenting, by the way."

Stiles couldn't stop the word vomit, but even at the end, Psychopath didn't say anything. He waited for what felt like forever, tension and anxiety rolling off of him in waves and Erica couldn't look away, no matter how bad she wanted to.

When the hit finally came, it was a million times worse than Stiles ever expected. The sharp snap registered before the pain, but he wondered if that was from shock. He could feel his skin peeled open and burning against the cool air where the whip lashed into his skin, cutting through it like butter, and warmth bled into his clothes. Stiles screamed.

"Okay, okay. Wait, wait, wait. Fuck," Stiles screamed as another deafening snap pierced through him, his voice hoarse with pain and panic. Erica let out a choked sob, but stayed quiet. He could vaguely hear Boyd whispering reassurances lowly to her, but he was clearly shaken too, unable to look up.

“What are you?” Psychopath asked, evenly from behind him.

Stiles’ body was trembling all over, as if every part of his body was trying to pull him a different direction to escape the pain. “A fucking kid,” Stiles shrieked.

If Stiles was hoping for hesitation or remorse, he was sorely disappointed. His whole body sagged as the whip cracked against his back a third time, and Stiles almost wished he was dead.

“Shit," Stiles choked. “Please! Please, don’t-“

Another snap of the whip lashed against him before he could say anymore. Stiles was openly crying now, and couldn't even force his legs to hold his weight, his wrists screaming in protest as they popped with each frail movement.

”Stiles!” Erica begged.

”Shhh,” he whispered, brokenly. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“That’s only four hits,” Psychopath taunted. “How many hits do you think he can take before he’s begging to tell me, begging to kill you himself?” 

Stiles clamped his eyes shut, trying to block it all out, the pain, his words, everything but Psycopath wasn’t having it. He reared back, slashing another gaping wound across the others.

“You fucking bastard!” Erica sobbed. “I hope you rot in hell!”

“Shut up, mutt!” Psychopath spat, his eyes portraying just how unhinged he was. “I’ll get to you soon enough!”

Gerard punctuated that thought with another snap of the whip and Stiles’ vision went white hot, and he felt something pulling in his chest like the current of a whirlpool. It was cold and refreshing, and even when he felt himself slipping away, he couldn’t feel anything but relief.

Erica let in a sharp intake of breath as the air suddenly shifted, powerful waves of something dark sending the hair on the back of her neck standing on edge. Boyd must have felt it too, stiffening beside her. The smell of wet grass and a brewing storm filled the room. 

The whip cracked once more, and as if possessed, Stiles' face lifted, the pain painted there fading away like watercolor, leaving him devoid of emotion, and his eyes filled with what looked like liquid smoke until both eyes were enveloped completely in icy black. His eyes flitted to the bonds holding Erica and Boyd, and they began to sizzle, the wolfsbane burning away under his gaze. The result was instantaneous. They could feel the wounds around their wrists closing, the traces of wolfsbane in their blood spilling out in dark curling wisps of smoke.

“What the fuck,” Erica whispered. 

”Ready?” The voice that spoke sounded like Stiles, and came from his mouth, but it was eerily detached, like he was a tool of ventriloquy. Eric and Boyd exchanged confused, unsure glances, but nodded at him hesitantly. He smiled, the look of it seeming wrong on his face. Unnatural even. In one quick movement, he straightened, planting his feet on the ground and yanked on the ropes around his wrists, and the two gaped as they tore away like tissue paper. 

"What the-" Gerard didn't have time to finish before Boyd and Erica tore through their chains, and roared.

Stiles pivoted and punched Psychopath with as much strength as he could muster, dropping him like the sack of shit he was, but he didn't stop there. He crawled on top of him and punched and punched, splattering the concrete with blood until Erica pulled him off. He kicked and fought, trying to get back at him.

"Stiles, we have to go!" She said, shaking him and growling when he accidentally head butted her. "Come on! There's more. At least two upstairs. We need you. Please."

Stiles' blinked, her frantic voice cutting through the haze and he froze in her arms until his eyes faded back to their usual brown. Then he collapsed in her arms. Erica looked up at Boyd in fear. "Great. What do the fuck do we do now?"

"Think you can take the hunters?" He asked. She unsheathed her claws as easy as breathing and shook her head in disbelief. 

"Yeah," she breathed. "What the hell is he?"

Boyd shook his head. "I don't know. We will figure that out later. I'll carry him."

**** 

The other wolves felt it the moment they stepped out of the shed. Fear, pain, anger. All of the emotions poured through their bonds and it was enough to make them gasp. 

Derek pulled on Boyd's bond and he tugged back in answer. Derek could feel that they weren't far. Maybe a few miles, at most. 

"Where are they?" Isaac asked. 

"Just follow me," Derek said, shifting into Alpha form. "Be ready for a fight."

****

It didn't take long after Erica killed the two guards for Stiles to wake up. He groaned in Boyd's arms, and let out a pained yelp when Boyd adjusted him, jumping from his arms. Stiles landed face first in the dirt, and almost immediately started dry heaving, unable to hold back even until he could sit up right. He turned his face, his whole body lurching with each heave.

"Stiles," Erica whimpered. His back was drenched in blood, deep meaty gashes sliced into him, showing the tangled mass of muscle beneath. 

He pushed himself up, heaving twice more, then just sat there shaking until he could bring himself to wipe the dirt and sweat clinging to his forehead with his sleeve. Hot, sticky bile coated his throat and the inside of his nose, making him feel like he needed to puke all over again. “I’m okay. I’m okay, just-just don’t touch me.”

Both of them nodded, but looked around anxiously. They were fairly certain that there had only been three hunters, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more coming. As much as they wanted to give him time, they really didn’t have it. They needed to put as much distance between them as they could.

“I’m sorry, but we have to go,” Boyd said, regretfully beside him. Stiles nodded, but he stayed curled inward on himself for a moment, his chest rattling from exertion. It took way too much effort to finally pull himself to his feet, but once he did, he managed to force himself to walk through the pain. 

“You guys don’t happen to have any gum on you, do you?” He joked. Both of them gave him a sympathetic smile, then fell back into easy silence, keeping a slow but steady pace, trying to keep their eyes and ears open as much as possible. 

“Derek is coming,” Boyd said, relief evident in his voice. 

“I know. I feel it,” Erica said, almost hysterically giddy at the thought. 

“He can find us?” Stiles asked, hope ringing his voice. “You’re sure?”

Boyd nodded. “It’s not as easy as sending our GPS location but yeah. He will find us.”

“Thank god for Alpha powers.”

The terrain started getting harder to navigate. Trees hung lower, the brush growing higher, but Stiles somehow kept hobbling on. The two could smell his pain getting worse, but neither mentioned it. It wouldn’t help anything, and there was no way Stiles would be able to take being carried again, not if his reaction was that strong the first time. 

“So who the hell was that?” Stiles asked out of nowhere. 

“We don’t know for sure,” Boyd answered, hurriedly. Erica took the hint, but Stiles did too.

“But you have an idea?” He panted. 

Boyd didn’t answer, keeping his eyes straight. 

“I’m mince meat. I think the time for not trusting me is over,” Stiles said. “Besides, if I don’t distract myself, I’m going to pass out and you’re going to be carrying my ass again. Sorry about your clothes by the way. Those are definitely going in the fire pit.”

Boyd looked down where he was soaked in Stiles’ blood. His jaw tensed, but he nodded. 

“He smelled like Allison.”

“Argent?” Stiles asked in disbelief. “But she’s our friend.”

“Not all of the Argents are,” Erica said, darkly. 

Stiles didn’t know what to do with that information, so he didn’t say anything. A minute later, they could hear the distant sound of footfall deep in the trees. 

“Thank fuck,” Stiles whispered. “Please tell me they brought a car.”

When the three figures finally came into sight, Stiles was amazed at how fast they were moving. Stiles quirked his head when they didn’t slow down. One of the three, he was guessing was Derek, he didn’t recognize, and he felt a shiver run down his spine as his red eyes bore into his soul as he tore through the trees. Stiles wasn’t sure how he knew, but he knew it all the same. That dude was going to fucking kill him. 

Stiles instinctively stepped backward, stumbling over the underbrush, sticks and rocks jabbing painfully into his already wounded hands. The dude was only a few yards away, but before he could lunge at Stiles, Erica and Boyd were wolfed out and blocked him from Stiles’ path, crouched into fighting position in front of him, gnashing their teeth threateningly. Stiles was frantically trying to process everything, but also felt a little relieved at the sudden love and body guard action. He would have to make them some cookies or something after all this. 

Their harsh reaction seemed to snap the guy out of his sudden need for blood, and he stepped back, his eyes fading to blue before turning dark.

”What the hell are you doing?” He snapped. 

“What the hell are you doing?! You’re really going to threaten the guy that just saved our lives, Derek?” Erica challenged, her words sharp even through the lisp of fanged teeth. 

The guy, who was incredibly good looking by the way, looked from her, to Boyd, then down at Stiles, obviously mortified. Stiles smirked at his expression, which only confused the guy more. He looked helplessly to Jackson, who looked as bewildered as he did, and shrugged, like he didn’t know what he expected Jackson to do. 

“Yeah, man. Dick move. I’m Batman,” Stiles slurred, then promptly passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know I said I would have this finished last night or by noon, but I hated the original second half of this chapter. It was completely different. The party actually happened and Derek and Stiles met, and it didn’t go well. It didn’t work nearly as well as this did, so I hope you think it was worth the wait. 
> 
> If you guys want to read what would have been, just let me know and I’ll post it on Tumblr or something for you guys. 
> 
> Hope you liked it! Let me know what you guys thought. I love hearing from you!


	4. Testing the Threshold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles meets Deaton.  
> Reinforcements are called.  
> Another Pack Meeting.  
> Lots and lots of angst.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: wound care stuff. Blood, mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys like this. It’s a bit longer than the previous chapters, and I got a bit tired toward the end and I think it shows, but here you go! 🥺✋🏻📖

Stiles moaned, fitfully, cursing the gods of sleep for being such Zeus-Level douchebags. Where his mattress was usually warm and comfortable beneath his head, there was nothing but hard, unrelenting cold against his cheek. He whimpered, still half asleep and tried to roll over, but for some reason his sleep-addled mind couldn't explain, his arm was stuck. His brows furrowed and he pulled a little harder. His muscles shifted, and one of his wounds split. His eyes flew open, the sudden jolt of excruciating pain and memories of the night before sending his whole body into survival mode. 

Then he was flailing. 

"Shit," someone cursed gruffly, the sound of a chair scraping across the floor making him wince as hands grabbed his shoulders, pressing him down into the cold metal. The hands on his bare skin only made Stiles fight harder, his fight or flight instinct and adrenaline overriding the immense pain he was in. Stiles somehow managed to elbow his captor, and he growled darkly. "Stop! You're just making it worse." 

"You stop!" He yelled back childishly. The guy didn't respond, just continued pressing down on him until Stiles finally relented, something he did less out of complicity and more out of exhaustion, his breathing wild and erratic. "Get your fucking hands off me, you creep."

"Are you going to stop flailing like a goddamn idiot?" The voice shot back. Stiles gritted his teeth and gave a curt, stubborn nod, and the fingers slowly uncurled from where they were pressed into his skin. Stiles was less than enthused when he felt a sickly, almost empty feeling filled the space his hands left behind. "Good. Wait here. I'll get Deaton."

Stiles laughed humorlessly and shook his hands where they were strapped together under the table. "Does it look like I have a choice?"

The guy grumbled under his breath something that sounded suspiciously like "pain in the ass" and "ungrateful children" before slamming the door shut behind him. Stiles pressed his forehead against the metal table, the tip of his nose squishing flat, and he forced himself to take deep breaths. After the last 24 hours, he was starting to think he was wrong and he actually really freakin' hated Beacon Hills. When he could finally think straight, he turned his neck to try to look around. 

The room was small, much smaller than he would expect from a hospital, but then again, that's exactly what it looked like, so no worries about being in a basement full of psychopaths somewhere. That was always a plus. He was on what was presumably a surgery table, and a surgical tray sat a few feet away, gauze and different medications spread across it. He winced a little at the ominous syringe filled with liquid, and peeled his eyes away from it before he could make himself panic again. 

Besides, that, there wasn't really anything interesting, just a hazardous materials box anchored to the wall, and various health posters littered around it. His eyes continued to roam, then he stopped on the largest poster toward the door at the opposite side of the room, gaping at it with a mix of several very negative emotions. 

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered to himself, his eyes glaring holes into the picture of a golden retriever labeled "Canine Skeletal Anatomy." "You took me to the freaking vet? Are you serious?"

Just about that time, the door behind him opened and a smug man with beautifully dark skin and matching eyes walked in, sliding a pen into his white doctor's coat. "My apologies. I know it is strange, but you'll find that this is more than your average veterinary office. Even so, I understand your initial reaction."

Stiles frowned, not liking the condescending tone in his words. "Well, thank god I'm forgiven. Where are my friends?"

"I'm not sure where they ran off to, but Miss Reyes and Mr Boyd have both made a full recovery, if that's what you're worried about."

"That and the fact that I'm stuck to a strangers table after being held against my will. Can I get up now?"

Stiles' snark only seemed to amuse him more, his smile growing. He plucked the syringe off the surgical table and walked over to where the IV bag was hanging, injecting whatever it was inside it's port. Stiles eyed it warily. "Just a pain reducer, I promise. Nothing to worry about. As far as your restraints go, I can release you, but we should probably redress your wounds first. I have a feeling they will be as much to your benefit as mine."

"Well by all means then," Stiles said, attempting and failing to wave him to continue, despite his reluctance. He could slowly feel whatever Deaton injected start to work, filling him with warmth and helping him to relax. 

Deaton asked him a few questions as poked and prodded at the bandages, trying to assess the damage, mostly about where the pain was the worst and if he was allergic to anything. When he started lifting the edges of the bandages, he fell quiet, his concentration evident in the pull of his brows. 

"Am I gunna make it, doc?" Stiles joked, but it missed the mark with the obvious nerves in his voice.

"You're already making decent progress in your healing, so I'm sure you will heal just fine. I can't guarantee you will walk away without scars though, unfortunately."

Stiles nodded, solemnly. That was going to be hard to explain away. Stiles' attraction and positive ideation toward scars was no longer seeming to hold when they were going to be on his own body. 

"Derek. I may need your help, if you don't mind," he said, turning to the back corner of the room. Footsteps walked slowly over, stopping just behind Deaton. 

Derek?

Deaton lowered his voice, and Stiles could feel gentle fingers sliding across the bandage softly, pointing out a a few of the most problematic spots. "See this here? I'm worried we may have left these bandages on a bit too long, in lieu of waking him. I can get them off, and I'll be careful as I can, but some of it may not be pleasant."

Stiles turned his head owlishly to the man he presumed held him down a few minutes before, and instantly regretted it, his heart stuttering clumsily in his chest. Derek was dark haired and light eyed, clad in jeans and the most enticingly tight charcoal Henley that Stiles had ever seen. He was mad, if his eyebrows had anything to say about it, but even with that deep scowl he was easily the most beautiful man Stiles had ever seen.

"Oh, fuck."

Deaton frowned, glancing at Stiles, then turning to the monitor. "Are you okay? Your pulse elevated very quickly. Is it the pain? The medication should have began working by now."

"Nope," Stiles answered, quickly. "Just a little gay panic. Maybe a minor sexual identity crisis. Nothing to see here."

Deaton barked out a surprised laugh, which was apparently very out of character for him by the almost disgusted shock on Derek's face at the sound. Stiles face burned inappropriately hot. 

"Oh god. I said that out loud."

"Yes you did," Deaton said, patting his unscathed arm placatingly. "We will have to put all revelations aside for now, though. Are you ready? I should warn you that even with the medication, this will probably be painful."

Stiles nodded. Just what he needed. A good ol' dose of pain. "Whatever you gotta do to get me off the stupid table. I've been tied up enough the last day to last a life time, thanks."

Deaton nodded and got straight to work, slowly and methodically pulling away the old bandages. The blood must have dried to them, making it a long, arduous process. Deaton did his best to loosen them from his skin with saline before pulling them off, but even then he could feel them ripping away layers of skin along the edges of his wounds. Derek's face was impassive as he made sure Stiles didn't jerk away suddenly, but Stiles could occasionally feel a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder that felt far more comforting than it probably should have coming from the guy who wolfed out on him just hours before. 

By the time Deaton was pulling off the last strip, Stiles' muscles were tensed up beyond his control, his breathing labored, and a sheen of cold sweat clung to pain flushed his skin, making him shiver. 

Stiles let out a long relieved breath, puffing out his cheeks, when Deaton stepped away to change out his gloves. 

"Done?" He asked, hopefully. 

Deaton winced apologetically. "Not quite. This next part won't be pleasant either, I'm sorry to say."

"Don't you think you should give him more medicine?" Derek ground out. "I've taken as much as I can and he's still shaking."

"I don't want to overdose him. We can take a short break, if you want."

"It's fine," Stiles said. "Let's just get it over with." 

Deaton got to work cleaning the wounds, Derek stiff from the smell of pain oozing beside him. The gauze felt far more abrasive than it probably actually was, and he was grateful that Deaton had called Derek over to keep him still. Stiles felt his stomach roll when he saw the yellow green covered gauze Deaton placed on the tray. The smell wasn't much better. 

"Ah, gross," he whispered, clamping his eyes shut and turning his head to face the other way. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Yes. Probably not best to look, if you can help it."

"You tell him that now?" Derek asked, his voice dripping with disapproval. 

"What he said," Stiles said weakly, still fighting the rolling in his stomach. 

"Only two more to go. If you are going to be sick, let me know and I'll get a sick bag."

Stiles didn't answer, just keeping his eyes closed, and humming quietly to ease the lurching of his stomach. Deaton finished up the cleaning, and by the time he redressed the wounds, Stiles somehow managed to fall asleep, his arms dangling off the sides of the table. 

"That went better than I expected," Deaton said, snapping off his gloves. 

Derek gave him a look that could only be described as homicidal. 

"He could have died," Deaton said, shrugging at his misdirected anger. "He's quite lucky he didn't. That amount of blood loss, mixed with the strain on his heart from the electricity-well. Let's just leave it at lucky."

"We still don't know what he is," Derek said. "Obviously not a Were of any kind, and I'm guessing you would have told us by now if he was a Druid."

Deaton hummed. "No, definitely not a Druid. His powers are still a bit of a mystery, even with everything I was told. I'm sure between my sources and Lydia, though, that won't be the case for long. Regardless of what he is, I believe he will fit into your world quite nicely."

Derek frowned at the implication hanging in the air. 

"For now, though, we should just worry about how we are going to get the Sheriff's son home without exposing the lot of us."

Deaton gave him a parting smile and Derek stared at his retreating back, until the door shut behind him. Deaton wasn't the most forthcoming man, and more often than not, he was more annoying than useful, but in this case, he was really glad to have Deaton on his side. As he said, last night could have ended much differently, magic or not. 

Derek pulled the chair back to where he'd been sitting the last six hours, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

He watched the kid, snoring soundly, soft brown hair sticking off of his head wildly and realized with a start that he had at some point over the course of the morning grown to find him adorable. From his slightly turned up nose, to his agape mouth, slightly drooling, he felt protective of the kid in a way that didn't make sense. Derek didn't even know him. All he'd witnessed so far was that he was mouthy, and stubborn, and more than a little frustrating, but he could feel it in his bones that he was also brave and selfless and intelligent. He could feel a flicker of something he never felt before deep in his body, and he could practically feel his wolf preening, snuffling at it in interest, but the human part of his brain wasn't comfortable enough with the unknown to allow it. His lip twitched, eyes hard and leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to pull his look away and think about something else. 

Cora and the others hadn't been especially thrilled when they found out Derek was only a breath away from tearing the kid apart, but he really didn't blame them. He was out of line. He jumped to conclusions and almost made a mistake he never would have forgiven himself for. Luckily Jackson and Isaac were there to help explain how they came to the conclusion Stiles was the mystery kidnapper, so the rest of them seemed willing enough to let it go, since nobody was actually hurt. By him anyway.

Hearing everything the three went through, what Stiles did to protect his Pack when Derek himself couldn't, was a little too much information for Derek to know what to do with. He honestly didn't understand it. Stiles only knew Boyd and Erica for a week, most of which was spent avoiding him, yet he was willing to take a beating just to give them time to break out. The only explanations he could come up with for his actions was that he was willing to do anything to get free, or he was as good of a friend as Scott always said he was, but nobody was that selfless, right?

As for the most glaringly obvious problem, it didn't take long to figure out who was behind everything, with the Allison adjacent smell narrowing the suspect pool. Their suspicions were confirmed when Allison and Chris were lead out to the property, which also turned out to be Chris' childhood home, and found two dead bodies outside their old weapon building. What they didn't know was what to do with that information. Gerard was obviously out for revenge, and since his body wasn't among the dead, that meant that he wasn't finished coming after them. 

Allison and Chris both swore they had no idea he was back in town, and Derek had no trouble believing them. They were visibly perturbed by the development, and Derek pretended not to notice when Scott pulled Allison aside, holding her as she cried into her shoulder, smelling of grief and anger. 

After Peter killed Kate and bit Victoria, resulting in her subsequent suicide, Allison found out it was her grandfather that convinced her to end her life. She was furious, understandably. She and Chris both swore if he ever stepped a foot back in Beacon Hills, they would kill him where he stood. 

The warning obviously hadn't been enough to stop him. 

Derek glared at the table. This couldn't have cropped up at a worse time. Laura, then the monster, Stiles being whatever he was, and now this? It felt like he was drowning. He was hit was the familiar unwavering knowledge that he wasn't cut out for being Alpha. It was never supposed to be him. He knew that, his mother knew that, everyone did, so why the hell did the spark choose him when it was already Laura's? 

That thought was derailed by Derek's phone blaring the generic default ringtone in his pocket. He fished it out hurriedly, but not fast enough. Stiles groaned. 

"Five more minutes, jeeze," he whimpered pitifully. "I just want sleep."

Derek rolled his eyes, but stepped outside, careful not to let the door close loudly behind him. When he stepped into the empty lobby, he finally held the phone to his head. 

"What?" 

Lydia sighed heavily over the phone. "We really do need to work on your social behavior, Derek. Try again."

Derek's jaw tensed. "Hello, Lydia. What do you want?"

"Useless. It's useless," She said, sucking her teeth. He waited. "Whatever. The Sheriff called Scott. He told him about Stiles' phone breaking, and when he asked to speak with Stiles, Scott said he was out getting breakfast for everyone but would let Stiles call him when Stiles woke up."

"Okay?" 

"Meaning," Lydia drew out the word, "that we need Stiles to talk to his dad. Soon. I'm sending Scott out there after he takes another shower. He's dead on his feet."

"Stiles just got his wounds dressed," Derek bit out. "I'm not going to wake him up."

"What is the alternative? Tell the Sheriff he can't talk to his son? We can't keep putting it off," Lydia said sharply. "I understand this sucks and you feel guilty but I need you to get a hold of yourself and help fix this mess. It wasn't your fault, but this involves your Pack and you're their Alpha. They need you. Now, get your head out of your ass and make sure Stiles is lucid enough to lie properly."

The line went dead and Derek blinked down at his phone, then shoved it back in his pocket, shaking his head in disbelief. "If I ever get my hands on Laura for leaving me with this shit, I swear to god..."

*****

After everything went down and they managed to find the bodies and dispose of them, the remaining members of the group, Scott, Isaac, Jackson, and Cora, decided to stay with Lydia since none of them were expected to be home until later today.

It was a rough night for everyone, to say the least. The wolves were practically climbing out of their skin, too amped up to sleep, even though she could tell she wasn't the only one exhausted. Lydia figured it was because everyone was still worried about the three that were hurt, and not having them or Derek around after such an eventful night was making them antsier than usual. She understood when Derek said he needed to stay with Stiles, though, even if she didn't understand his constant martyr complex that left everything that went wrong in this town building dangerously high on his shoulders. They eventually managed to get a few hours of sleep, though, knowing they were being taken care of. 

The last Lydia heard, Boyd and Erica were fully healed, if not a bit shaken, and back home, but Lydia suspected that would only last a few hours. There would have to be a Pack meet at some point today. Scott was taking his sweet time in the shower, and Allison was back home with her father, which left her, Jackson, Cora and Danny in the living room. 

"You know, I'm not exactly comfortable looking into this without knowing the guy," Danny said as he tossed his keys on the couch. He sat on the floor by the coffee table, crossing his legs and placed his laptop gently on the glass top. "Doesn't seem like the most stable building blocks for a potential friendship." 

"Noted," Lydia said. "Unfortunately, I'm too impatient to wait for Stiles' permission, so we will have to work with what we have. Which is you."

Jackson bumped Danny's shoulder reassuringly with his fist as he walked by, a glass of water in hand and handed Danny a granola bar. "I'm sure Stilinski wants to know what he is just as bad as we do. If he's smart he would, anyway. I wouldn't sweat it."

"It is kind of invasive, but I'm with Lydia. I don't like not knowing what's going on," Cora said. 

Danny opened the wrapper, and waved it around. "Yeah, I get that, but what does hacking into his personal life have to do with what he is?"

Lydia tapped on the side table absentmindedly as they bickered, her legs tucked beneath her. She was still in her night outfit, her hair thrown up in a haphazard bun. The shadows under her eyes looked even more pronounced against her light eyes. 

"I don't like going into a puzzle without all of the pieces," she said. "History can reveal a lot about what he is. For example, I didn't become a banshee until Peter bit me, and if you looked into my family you would find their was a history of mental illness. Which I still find really offensive by the way. If there are any records of assault or accidents or anything unusual in general, we can add that to the list of possible catalysts."

"What about the seizure?" Cora asked from the recliner, looking out the window with a frown. "Stiles told Erica and Boyd that he started seeing a light after he had the seizure. Could that be what started it?"

Jackson glanced between them, leaning against the wall as he sipped from his glass. He was not touching that one. 

Lydia's lips tightened into a line. She'd already thought about that, and she was sure the others had too, as it was the most obvious, but she didn't want to say that, not when Cora looked so downtrodden at the thought. She couldn't lie either, though. "That's a definite possibility."

Cora grimaced but didn't look surprised. Nothing could really surprise her anymore. It seemed the world was content to try its hardest to prove her wrong, though. 

Danny puffed out a breath and shook his head. "I don't think I'm on board, guys. I'm sorry. It just doesn't feel right. If he says it's okay, I'll do it, but not this way. He's not one of the bad guys."

"That we know of," Jackson amended. The three of them stared at him. "What? We all know it's true."

"It's fine," Lydia sighed, but Danny still looked like he felt bad. "Seriously. It's okay. I have a back up plan. Scott would have probably killed us anyway."

Scott peeked his head over the staircase, his hair dripping wet. "Why am I killing you?"

"Just hurry and get dressed so we can go, already!" Cora shouted, planting her feet on the floor, her nails digging into the cushion. "Seriously. If you're not down in like two minutes I'll drag your ass down."

"You're going?" Lydia asked, a little disappointed. She'd hoped that Cora would stick around for at least a little while. 

Cora gave a sharp nod. She owed Stiles that at least.

"I am too," Jackson said. "Derek is probably being an idiot and not eating."

"What are you going to do?" Lydia asked Danny.

He shrugged, pulling out his phone to look at the time. "I'll probably try to get a little more sleep before my mom needs me at the shop."

"Okay. Well, if you guys don't need me for anything else, I'm going to go upstairs and make a call," Lydia said, looking none too pleased by that fact.

"That is vague," Cora pointed out. "Care to fill us in?"

Lydia bit the inside of her lip and shook her head, hating the words that were about to come from her mouth. "We have a supernatural that we need to identify, and without access to Stiles' history, I can only think of one person more qualified than me to do that."

"Who?" Jackson asked, his face scrunched up. Lydia just looked away, and realization hit Cora, making her feel happier than she had all week. 

"Holy shit," She said, her face stretching into a grin. "You're calling Uncle Peter, aren't you?"

*****

Deaton unlatched the restraints around Stiles' wrists. His guilt from the night before returned when he saw the slick pink and black skin underneath, bruised, rubbed raw, and already starting to scab over in some places. He didn't have any other choice but to make Stiles wear them, but that didn't make him feel any better. 

Stiles sighed in relief but wasn't sure what to do with his hands now that they were free, just kind of lifting them and flexing his fingers as they hovered above the table. Deaton seemed to notice his dilemma, but stayed where he was. 

"Would you like me to assist you in sitting up?" He asked. 

Stiles shook his head. "Probably best if I did it myself."

Deaton had expected as much. Stiles pressed his hands against the metal table, and lifted himself as if doing a push up, his arms having to fight to hold his weight. 

"I can help," Derek said, but Stiles shook his head again.

"It'll only hurt worse. Trust me." 

Stiles slowly slid his knees up and forward, then worked on sitting the rest of the way up. He huffed when he finally managed it, feeling a little too confident for someone who felt like he ran a marathon just from sitting up. 

"That's good," Deaton said, pleased. "I wasn't expecting you to be successful."

Stiles wasn't sure whether to be offended or annoyed. On one hand the dude thought he was going to fall on his face, on the other, even though he expected it, he didn't try to stop him. Not that he probably could have. He wasn't sure which was worse. He turned to look at Derek and threw a thumb over his shoulder toward Deaton. "He always like this?"

"Always."

"Alright then," Stiles said, eyes widening like he thought they were the weird ones. "So. What’s the game plan, Stan?"

"Game plan?" Deaton asked. "I'm not sure we know what you mean."

Stiles looked between them expectantly then motioned to the whole of himself. "Me. This. What are we thinking? Some kind of weird drinking game accident? Kink gone wrong? Or am I just wearing long sleeves for the unforeseeable future?"

Derek looked to Deaton, one brow raised.

"It think that largely depends on you. You will require at least a few more dressing changes. Would you be able to come by here without your father becoming suspicious?"

Stiles shrugged. "Probably."

"And you have no plans in sharing your knowledge of the supernatural with him?"

"No," Stiles barked out, shaking his head adamantly. "No way. He has more than enough trouble to deal with without throwing him into all this. We aren't telling him anything."

Deaton gave him a sad smile. "If that is the case, I personally would suggest pretending it didn't happen at all."

Stiles was already more than familiar with the concept. What you can't accept, deny, deny, deny. 

Deaton must have taken his silence as something other than what it was because he continued. "I know that is a lot to ask, but if you are as smart as Scott has told me, I can imagine you understand that this world and the human world would not coexist peacefully if they learned about us. What you saw will have to stay between us and the rest of the Pack."

Derek's brows furrowed. He already knew that, and logically it made sense, but it felt wrong somehow. Stiles didn't share the hesitation. 

"Sounds good to me," he said, easily. "As long as you guys aren't going to kill me for my silence or whatever I'm on board."

The door bell hanging on the front door rang, and a few seconds later, Scott burst through the doors, throwing himself at Stiles, who froze when Scott's arms wrapped around him. Scott quickly backed off wincing and holding his hands up with a grimace like he just broke something expensive. Derek rubbed a hand down his face. 

"Sorry," Scott muttered, leaning his forehead against Stiles shoulder, keeping his arms pinned at his side. "I was just so freaked out. You looked bad, man. I really didn't know if-I thought you were going to die."

Stiles gently lifted his arms and awkwardly patted his back. "I did too, buddy. I'm all good now though. Just looking a bit like jacked up fish fillet."

Scott looked up and his eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I'm serious. You were pale and there was blood everywhere. I was going to stay with you, but Allison, man. She's so freaked and-"

"None of that, dude. I get it. Deaton says I'll heal. I'm good. I mean, I'll more than likely have scars, but if that's true, that just means I'll probably have to write Psychopath a thank you note for all the ladies I'll be pulling."

Scott rolled his eyes, letting out a noise between a sigh and a laugh. "Whatever, dumbass. I'm just glad you're okay."

Scott put a hand on Stiles arm not covered in small bandages, and black veins started to crawl up his arm. 

"Holy shit," Stiles said, letting out a half-hysteric laugh, then looking at Scott with awe. "That's awesome! I'm guessing that's the pain pull thing Boyd was talking about?"

"Cool, right?" Scott said with a goofy lopsided smile. "I'm a freaking werewolf."

Derek and Jackson shared a look then rolled their eyes, almost perfectly in tandem. 

"Speaking of which, I think it would be best if someone stayed with Stiles tonight. Derek has been pulling as much pain as he could safely tolerate while Stiles slept, but it would be great if some of you would rotate out. It will be hard to give him any pain killers that won't effect his school work or make him drowsy," Deaton said. 

Stiles' eyes flashed to Derek, but he was looking away, eyes trained on the far wall. Stiles studied his face, a strange feeling blossoming in his gut, until Scott squeezed his arm, breaking him from his trance. 

"Whatever you need. Just let me know."

"Not that this isn't touching, but are you going to hog him the whole time or will I eventually get a turn?" Cora said, still standing in the doorway. Stiles looked up and grinned. 

"Hey," he chirped happily, his eyes widening when he saw the bag at her side. "You brought me food?"

"Yep," she said, strolling over to hop on the table beside him like she was in her own home and not some cryptic vet's office. "I even ate all the random straight fries for you."

Stiles swooned, pretending to melt in his seat as she handed the food over and Jackson took that as his opportunity to hand Derek his bag of burgers. "Thank the lord. You're a badass and aCorable. This is why you're my new favorite."

Cora frowned and promptly plucked the bag from his lap and held it up in the high in air, just out of his reach. Stiles let out an indignant snort. 

"Wait! What? No. Don't take the food!"

"Take it back."

"What? What did I say?" Stiles flailed. Cora narrowed her eyes. "What? ACorable? No way. That was hilarious."

Cora glared threateningly. 

"Come on! It was good! It took me way to long to think of it. I can't just give it up!"

"Swear, Stiles, or I will take out the curliest fries in this bag and stomp on them into the floor right here in front of you," Cora said. 

Deaton frowned. 

"But Cora. I almost died."

Silence. 

Cora shook the bag and Stiles slumped. 

"Fine. I swear, you menace. God."

Cora handed him back the bag, and Stiles fist punched the air before digging in chuckling like a mad mad when he pulled out a Super Curly. Scott stepped back warily until he was between Derek and Jackson, all three of them sharing mutual looks of shock. 

"What the hell just happened?" Scott whispered. 

Derek shook his head, half a burger in his hand, staring as his sister threw her head back and laughed; Stiles balancing another fry on his nose, then snatching it out of the air. 

"I have no idea."

"Damn, McCall," Jackson smirked. "I think you just lost your best friend."

*****

As fun as it was to live relatively pain free and careless, they eventually had to face the music. Stiles bit at his cuticles nervously, feeling like a tightly wound spring. Stiles had lied to his dad before, obviously, but never anything serious. His dad trusted him. They told each other everything. Knowing he was about to lie about something this big almost physically hurt. It was easy to say he would lie when they asked if he could, but actually having to do it was another story. 

Scott handed him his phone, a faint look of concern on his face, but Stiles ignored it. He couldn't think about anything but this right now. 

"We will wait outside," Cora said, pulling on Derek and Jackson's sleeves. 

"You're not going to stay?" 

Derek looked to Cora, but she wasn't looking at Stiles. He turned and all of them, including Stiles, were watching him expectantly. He frowned. 

"Me?"

"You're the Alpha, right? It's Pack stuff," Stiles said. Derek didn't say anything and Stiles hurriedly backtracked. "Never mind. Sorry. I just thought with what I've read, you'd be more comfortable if you were here and had our stories straight."

"You've read up on werewolves? When did you have the time?" 

"I did it like a year ago for Scott," Stiles said. "I mean, all the stuff I read left a lot out, and even more was obviously wrong but-" Scott was giving him a "shut the hell up look," so Stiles forced himself to stop, looking really confused. "I mean, I-don't-know -anything really. I guess?"

"A year ago, huh?" Derek asked, crossing his arms, and narrowing his eyes at Scott. 

"I didn't tell him!" Scott said. "I just told him that I needed help with-"

"With a project. Yeah. I got it," Derek sighed. 

"It probably wouldn't hurt for you to stay," Deaton said, trying to get the conversation back on track. "If for no other reason than to relay back to the Pack."

Derek shrugged and stayed where he was as the others piled out. 

Stiles tapped on the phone, unlocking it, and his leg jiggled impatiently until the phone started to ring.

"Sheriff Stilinski," his dad answered after a few rings. Stiles didn't answer for a moment, his mouth opening and closing a few times. He hadn't prepared for the overwhelming, almost suffocating relief at hearing his dad's voice. He was alive, safe and sound. He knew that logically, but he still couldn't breathe. "Hello?"

Scott nudged him and Stiles blinked, pushing away the onslaught of emotion. "H-Hey dad. It's me."

"God kid, you had me worried. You know you're supposed to check in when you get somewhere," Noah said, sternly. 

"Yeah, no. I know. I kind of broke my phone," Stiles winced. "Sorry."

"Scott told me," Noah sighed. Stiles rested his hand over his mouth. "How did you manage to do that, exactly?"

"Oh, you know. Just me being me."

"Do you have enough in your allowance to buy a new one?" 

Stiles thought back to his already fairly empty bank account, did a little math, subtracting the gas he bought before school Friday, and the money he spent on snacks then looked to the ceiling, cursing his luck. "I'll figure something out. There are some cheaper phones I can find until I save up for a new one. Again."

He was still pretty pissed about that. If Stiles knew how to resurrect that guy, he would, just to kill him again. Probably.

"Are you sure? I can probably give you a little bit if you need it," Noah said. 

"It's fine. Just save it for the house fund. I'll make Scotty go with me to the store or something before I head home."

Scott nodded and Stiles gave him an appreciative half smile. 

"Well, did you at least have a good time?" Noah asked. 

Stiles forced himself to nod, even though he knew his dad couldn't see him. "Yeah," his voice cracked, and he swallowed. "Yeah, dad. I really did. Even managed to do it sober," Stiles laughed, but his face was pained. 

"Even better," Noah said. His smile was evident in his voice. "Did you get your uh-your admittance, or whatever?"

Scott quirked his head, but Stiles just shook his head, sighing. "God I hope so."

Apparently one of the deputies failed to show up for work that morning-big shocker-and his father was going to have to go back in for the night shift to cover for the person who took Deputy Dickhead's shift. That made it easy enough to convince his dad to let him stay the night with Scott, even if he seemed surprised at Stiles staying away from home not once, but twice. Noah hadn't said it, but Stiles imagined the reason Noah was so willing to let him stay was because he felt bad that Stiles was spending so much time alone. All in all, they seemed in the clear. For now, anyway.

Deaton checked Stiles' bandages one last time before clearing him to leave. They all walked out of the office together and Stiles suddenly facepalmed, making them all stop. 

"Oh my god," he groaned. "What the hell am I going to do about my car?"

"Your car?" Scott asked. 

"Yeah, my car! Deputy Dickhead smashed my window out before he tazed the shit out of me. I don't even know if my keys will still be in there."

"Call Allison," Derek said to Scott. "I'm sure Chris will go see if they hid it somewhere. See if he can get it done before the Pack meeting."

"Pack meeting? Am I invited?"

Derek glared at him, then opened his car door. "Still debating." 

The door slammed shut and Cora huffed in amusement before sliding in the back. 

"Don't almost die again. You're a pain in the ass enough as it is," Jackson warned. 

Stiles rolled his eyes as his door shut. "Didnt plan on it the first time!" He yelled, then muttered, "Fucking Jackson."

Scott nodded in agreement. "So what do you want to do first?"

"You're taking me to your house and you're going to catch me up on everything. My best friend is a werewolf!"

******

Peter pulled up to the renovated Pack house and killed the engine. The house was similar enough to the one he lived most of his life in to make him think about it every time he saw it, but thanks to Lydia and Isaac, there was enough about it different to not make him want to shift every time he walked inside. Not that he was there much. 

The months after his resurrection weren't great. 

Some of his former Beta's lives were actually made better by his bite. Erica and Boyd were not exactly warm toward him, so much as indifferent, but he could see it in their eyes that they were grateful, even if they couldn't say it aloud. Isaac seemed a little uncomfortable in his presence, but he didn't shy away from him when he came around. The true reason for his nephew asking him to stay away for the time being was mostly because of Scott and Lydia. 

Lydia he understood, as he was not exactly kind when invading her mind, but Scott he found a bit pretentious. It was obvious he didn't enjoy being a werewolf, more often than not, though that didn't stop him from using his newfound abilities to his advantage. He surely didn't complain when making first lineup in lacrosse. He was asthma free, stronger, faster, more alive than he'd ever been, but all the teen seemed to do was complain. 

Peter didn't mind not being allowed in their inner circle. He would meet with his nephew and nieces on occasion for lunches or dinner, before Laura ran off that is, and he wasn't an Omega. He got to travel as he always wanted to do and he didn't have to stick around for all of the teen angst. It was the best of both worlds. 

He was surprised, to say the least, when Lydia called him. She was curt and cold, but at least part of that seemed to just be part of her personality, he thought. Despite the less than warm invitation, didn't hesitate to agree to come back. Things must be truly dire if she reached out to him. 

Derek was waiting for him by the door and he knew instantly by the look on his face that Beacon Hills' very own Banshee hadn't filled him in on their little chat. 

"What are you doing here?"

"No better luck on the communication skills I see," Peter said evenly, his lips quirking up on one side. 

"My communication skills are fine. Your listening skills leave much to be desired," Derek said, sharply. “I have enough to deal with without my Pack getting pissy because you suddenly show up without warning.”

Lydia must have heard the commotion and came up from behind Derek, holding the door open wider. "Did you bring the books?"

"Why, it's good to see you too, Ms Martin," he said with a smirk. Lydia just raised an eyebrow. She was not in the mood for his little mind games. He sighed, like answering her question was taxing on his health. "They're in the trunk."

Lydia pushed passed them, stomping off in her high heels towards his car. Derek read between the lines and rolled his eyes as he walked back into the house. "Meeting starts in ten minutes." 

Peter walked to the kitchen and started pulling out everything to make some food. He may as well make himself at home. He was going to be there a while. 

*****

Stiles' mind was still whirling with all of the information he'd gotten over the last few hours, and he was honestly regretting telling Scott he would stay the night, with or without his pain-sucking voodoo. His fingers itched to research everything they'd talked about. To think that they'd gone up against and killed a real-life freaking wendigo was one thing, but knowing that his best friend had met a group of honest to god freakin' vampires was a whole different league of badassery. Sure, they just met with the Pack to inform their former Alpha, Laura, that they were passing through, but still. Vampires.

Stiles was weirdly excited when Scott told him he was allowed to go to the Pack meet. Sure he knew that he'd already hung out with everyone at school already, but now he knew what they were. It was different now. He wasn't really sure how to act around everyone though. Feeling out social cues wasn't exactly his forte. 

Stiles practically jumped out of Scott's car when he saw his own sitting in the driveway. 

"My baby!" He yelled, wishing he could throw his arms over the hood. He settled for a light patting. "Allison, your dad is the best."

Allison smiled as she handed over his keys, but her eyes were still puffy from the night before. "It's the least we could do. Stiles, I'm so sorry. I didn't know-"

"Don't worry about it," he waved her off. He really didn't know if he was going to be able to handle this if everyone kept bringing it up. "I've got a werewolf best friend keeping me all nice and comfy."

"I really am sorry."

"I guess you'll just have to make it up to me then," he sighed. "I request exactly one order of curly fries from wherever Cora got the ones from this morning."

Allison's smile was a lot more genuine this time. "Deal."

The three walked in together and Stiles suddenly wondered if he and Scott were the only ones here that had money problems. The living room was huge. A large U-shaped sectional took up most of the back part of the room, complimented by a beautifully finished wood coffee table and a modern stylish looking rug beneath it. There was a giant TV mounted on the opposite wall, and Stiles immediately wanted to take advantage of the newest gaming console attached.

"You like it?" Cora asked from her spot on the couch. "Pretty nice, huh?"

"You should have seen what Derek picked out," Lydia said with her nose still shoved in a book. "He was going to go with tan. With these walls."

Stiles pretended to look scandalized, but he really didn't know what the walls had to do with the color of the couch. 

"Is that Stiles?" Erica asked, from upstairs. 

"Yeah. Scott and Allison, too."

Peter stiffened from his spot in the kitchen, and Derek looked up questioningly. He tilted his head, trying to listen in to their conversation, but the voice of the mystery person was unfamiliar. Too deep, too old, too different. Even if it was Stiles, he supposed it would be. It had been years. Peter knew it was naive to think they would ever come back. He almost willing to bet that he was getting worked up over nothing, hoping for things that he could never have, things he didn’t deserve, that he could only be disappointed, but then Stiles _laughed_. Peter had to brace his hands hands on the counter, his eyes flickering back and forth as he tried to make sense of the troublesome cackle. Now that; that was familiar.

"What?" Derek asked, on alert. 

Peter didn't answer. As much as his heart ached for it to be true, it couldn’t be. Surely it was a coincidence. Then again, how many people in the world could possibly go by a name as hideous as Stiles? He now regretted not asking for more information from Lydia. He battled with himself internally before forcing himself to walk into the doorway, his legs almost seeming to have a mind of their own, Derek trailing behind him.

As soon as Peter saw him, there was no denying it. 

"Stiles?"

Stiles looked up and he seemed to have the same reaction as Peter, his eyes widening. 

“Uncle Peter?” 

He was obviously older now, the wrinkles around his eyes slightly more pronounced, but his douchey V-necks were obviously still the same. Everyone else watched, stunned into silence as Stiles let out a surprised laugh. The matching grin that spread on Peter’s face was so like the ones he’d seen a million times when he was a kid, he had to force himself not to throw himself into Peter’s arms. He knew how much Peter hated being touched. To his surprise though, it was Peter who initiated the hug. Stiles didn’t even mind the pain. That was so far from the front of his mind.

Stiles looked up and Peter tapped him on the nose, another assurance that this was the man he looked up to so much. “Long time no see, pup. Nobody informed me that the stray they were bringing around was you. Not that I asked, to be fair.”

“Uncle Peter?” Scott asked, completely astounded. “You know Peter?”

“Yeah, man. He used to come to my house all the time. Sometimes stay a week or two, at least twice a year, until dad said he moved away.” He also was the one who pushed his dad to get off the couch. Helped him sober up. Got Stiles to school when his father couldn’t be woken after a relapse bender. Nobody needed to know that, though. 

Hearing that made Peter’s scent go sour, and he frowned. Peter knew Noah had to explain away his absence somehow, but to tell Stiles he moved away? No place on Earth would have kept Peter from seeing him. Not after everything Stiles had been through. 

“Peter?” Derek demanded behind him. 

Peter, for the first time probably ever, was at a loss for words. How was he going to explain this away? He could lie, of course, but in a room full of werewolves, that would only be counterproductive. If he told the truth though, he wasn’t sure how Stiles would take it, and even after all these years, he actually cared about what he thought. No need to taint good memories with new information.

“That’s a story for another time, nephew,” Peter deflected. 

“Nephew?” Stiles asked, brows furrowing. “Now I’m confused.”

“Their mom was his brother. What’s to get?” Jackson snarked. “How you know him is what I’m stuck on.”

“Are you kidding? That’s not even the interesting part. Someone besides Cora actually likes Peter?” Erica asked, looking genuinely mortified at the thought. Isaac nodded, looking a bit wary. 

Stiles frowned and opened his mouth to argue, but Peter stopped him. “No worries, pup. These children don’t find my wily charms as alluring as you do.”

“We actually don’t find that you have any charm at all,” Allison said, cooly. She handed Stiles a water she got from the fridge and worked on handing them out.

“Wait,” Stiles said, suddenly, his brows furrowing as his thoughts clicked together like a latch. “Peter Hale?”

Peter smiled, sadly. “The one and only.”

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathed. The name brought up a million lines to the forefront of his mind. Burned beyond recognition. Entire family killed. Four known survivors. “How-what-why did my dad lie?”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Derek started, starting to look annoyed. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Peter sighed. “Apparently, Stiles here is just learning that I burned to a crisp and that I’m a werewolf.”

Stiles sputtered, and his head bobbled more and more the more with each word that spilled out. “I mean, I hadn’t actually put that last part together yet, but yeah. Makes sense. Werewolf family. Right.”

Derek rubbed at his temples. This kid was so much more trouble than he could handle. 

“Enough. We are going to put this on the back burner. For now,” Derek said pointedly at Peter. “We have other things we need to discuss.”

Everyone seemed to take that as an order, and settled on the couch. Stiles didn’t miss the way Peter isolated himself away from the others by taking the recliner instead of sitting on the couch. Everyone seemed to hate him, but Stiles didn’t understand why. Even Derek, his legit nephew, didn’t seem particularly fond of him, and that was so weird, conflicting directly with the mental image Stiles had of the lovable Uncle nobody could say no to. 

Scotty had obviously left some pretty gaping holes in his backstory. 

When everyone settled, Derek was the only one left standing. 

“Where is Danny?”

“He’s working. I’ll fill him in,” Jackson answered.

“Okay, fine. So Gerard Argent is a problem that we don’t need right now,” Derek said. Allison tensed and Scott put an arm around her shoulder. “We already have something picking off civilians, and it’s getting closer to the Preserve. We need to keep patrolling, but with Gerard in the picture, I don’t know how to safely do that. He obviously has other hunters at his disposal, and our usual tactic of patrolling in pairs isn’t going to be enough if they decide to come at us again. I’m not even sure switching to three or four people would be.”

“They caught us off guard,” Boyd said, frowning. “We didn’t even know what was happening until we were already in the van.”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. “It seems I really should have been more thorough in my questioning with Ms. Martin. I knew of the creature, but I was unaware Argent was back in town.”

“He kidnapped Boyd and Erica,” Derek said tersely.

“The only reason we made it out was because of Stiles,” Erica added, shooting him a small smile. “He’s-well, he’s something. We don’t know what exactly.”

Stiles shifted uncomfortably in his seat under the weight of everyone’s gazes. “I don’t know, either, okay? It just happened.”

“What exactly happened?” Peter asked, his eyes flashing a bright blue. 

Stiles pointedly avoided looking at him. When he obviously wasn’t going to answer, Boyd took over. 

“He burned the Wolfsbane from our shackles then tore out of his ropes.”

“Anyone can burn wolfsbane,” Peter said. 

“With his mind,” Boyd said bluntly. 

“That is less usual,” Peter agreed. 

“Tell me about it,” Stiles muttered.

“What are we going to do about Gerard?” Jackson asked. “If my opinion matters, I say we find him and kill him. No offense, Allison.”

“None taken. I agree,” she said, shrugging. “He knew what it meant to come back.”

“I’m down. He deserves everything that’s coming to him,” Isaac said, darkly, memories of his two closest friend bloody and smelling of pain still fresh in his mind. 

Scott’s face hardened. “We can’t just kill people, guys. I get why Erica killed those guys last night, she didn’t have any other options with Stiles being out of commission, but we do with Gerard. We can just tell Stiles’ dad to arrest him.”

“For what? A kidnapping I’m not telling him about?” Stiles asked, a little bewildered. 

“We don’t have to say it was you. Erica and Boyd can testify,” Scott said. 

Erica scoffed. “Do you hear yourself? My mother would flip! I was just there this morning telling her I was fine after a party, Scott.”

“Okay, then we pin something else on him.”

“Like what?” Erica demanded. 

“I don’t know. That dude has to have a kill sheet a mile long. We will find something. Anything is better than murder, or do you want him on your conscience too?”

“Wow, Scott,” Cora scoffed. “Read the fucking room, for once.”

Peter watched them bicker. It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so damn sad. 

“Scott, you can’t be serious,” Stiles asked, sounding hurt. “He tortured her. He tortured us, man! Erica saved us. Her conscience should be clean. Sparkling!”

Erica turned away, fighting back angry tears, and Boyd held her, whispering quietly in her ear. Peter gripped his knees, his claws unsheathing and pricking holes in his jeans. Now that he was focusing on it, he could smell pain and blood. How had he not noticed before? Gerard was a dead man walking, if he wasn’t already.

“No matter what the reason, she still killed them,” Scott said, crossing his arms. “All I’m saying is there’s always another way. If we can find a way to do this without anymore bloodshed, we should do it.”

Stiles gaped at him and Derek wasn’t sure he blamed him. Scott was being a dick. That being said, he could see this meeting was quickly spiraling out of control. Again.

“We will come back to Gerard,” Derek said. “Peter, have you had any time to look into the creature?”

Peter rolled his neck, pushing back his anger, and subsequently his claws. “With what little information I have, it could be anything. All I was told was there were two attacks, both mutilated by claws. That doesn’t exactly narrow down the options, much.”

“I’ll take you to the last kill site. The scent should still be there, even if it’s faint.”

“Could Stiles get the pictures?” Cora asked. “You’re dads the Sheriff.”

Stiles was still a little in shock from what Scott was saying and shook his head. “I dunno. Maybe.”

Derek nodded. “It would be appreciated.”

Stiles nodded back robotically. 

“Lydia, I’m guessing you and Peter are going to be on research duty. Is that going to be a problem?” Derek asked. The words sounded harsh, but it conflicted with his tone. 

“Not if he doesn’t make it one,” she answered. 

“I believe I’ve made enough problems for you,” Peter said.

“Understatement of the century,” she said, smiling sharply.

There was definitely a story there. Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Okay. That’s a lie. He definitely wanted to know, but now was not the time. 

“Anyone have any suggestions for patrol?”

Peter was surprised at the sudden show of diplomacy. Last he’d seen, his nephew was falling into the tendency to bark orders and force submission to get what he needed done. Pun intended. Even as a child he was more of a Right Hand type, but perhaps he would make it as an Alpha after all. Lord knows it hadn’t suited Peter. Once a Left Hand, always a Left Hand. 

“My father and I can start doing training with weapons, but I’m not sure how much that would help if Gerard is using surprise tactics,” Allison said. 

Derek nodded. “We probably need to get in the habit of having more training days in general. Weapons training would be good for them, even if it may not necessarily help with Gerard. If you don’t mind talking to your father, we would gladly accept the help. Anyone else?”

Derek listened intently as they debated different ideas for a few minutes, but they ultimately came up with nothing substantial. 

“Okay. For now, we will just have to hope that numbers will be enough. Tuesday and Thursday will be Boyd, Erica, and Peter, and Scott, Jackson, and Isaac will take Saturday and Sunday since Scott and Isaac need the most help with school. I’ll cover the rest.”

“I know I say this every time, but fuck you for not including me,” Cora said, twisting her shoe against where it sat on the edge of the coffee table. “I’m human, not useless.”

Derek sighed. “We’re not going over this again.”

“Wait, so who goes with you?” Stiles asked, his brows furrowed.

“He normally patrols by himself,” Lydia said. 

Stiles snorted. “Yeah. No. That’s stupid. Do you want to be unalived? Because that’s how you get unalived.”

Lydia smiled. “Thank you. I tell him that all the time.”

Derek glared at her. “You just agreed with someone who used ‘unalived’ as a verb. It’s not even a real word.” 

“So? Maybe it will be good to have somebody else calling you on your bullshit. Even if he uses stupid made up words.”

Stiles wasn’t sure to be more offended that they thought he was stupid or that they obviously didn’t know who Deadpool was. 

Peter sighed, dreamily. “I like her.”

“The sentiment isn’t shared.”

“I’m aware.”

Stiles started to say he could help with research, but he didn’t want to assume he would be allowed to and be shut down in front of everyone. Maybe he would ask Peter later. 

“Okay. Are we done for today?” Jackson asked. “As much as I’d love to stick around and hear how the fuck Stilinski knows Peter, I need to get extra lacrosse practice in.”

“It’s really not that interesting,” Stiles said. 

Peter begged to differ, but he wasn’t going to fuel the fire. 

“We’re done. Everyone can go but Stiles. Scott, go somewhere else.”

“What? Why?” Derek’s eyes flashed red, and Scott’s eyes flashed back red in response, but he rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

Stiles lingered awkwardly on the couch as everyone got up to leave. Erica stopped by him, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead, then softly brushed her cheek along the side of his throat, which he would probably would think was some weird seduction thing if Scott hadn’t done that to him earlier in the day. Scenting apparently was a thing, and judging by what Scott said about it being a familial-type gesture, it meant something if Erica was doing it to him. She cared about him. It wouldn’t be so shocking if she hadn’t been ignoring him the past week. He understood why now, but still. Apparently life or death situations really did bring people together. 

Peter gave him a parting nod, and Stiles honestly just felt a little empty. Maybe Peter was just giving him space or not wanting to encourage a second wave of questioning but now that he knew who Peter was, it felt like there was a lot more than time putting distance between them. 

When everyone was gone, Derek remained, staring down at him. 

“So...what’s up?” Stiles asked, cringing at himself internally. 

“How’s your pain?” Derek asked. 

Stiles wasn’t expecting that. He shrugged. “Slowly coming back, but not intolerable.”

Derek nodded, then fell quiet. 

“Is-is that everything?” Stiles asked. 

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” Derek said, eyeing him. “I don’t usually make a habit of letting strangers into my home, but I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt because you saved Erica and Boyd. Don’t take that the wrong way, though. If I find out anything about you that makes me think you will be a threat to my Pack, I will rip your throat out without hesitation. With my teeth.”

“Whoa there, big guy. I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Stiles said, holding his hands up in surrender. “No throat tearing will be necessary. They are my friends. At least, I think they are. Most of them, anyway.”

Derek nodded. “Just so we understand each other.”

Derek opened one of the drawers of the coffee table at tossed something to him, and Stiles fumbled it a few times before catching it. Stiles held up the phone box in question.

“What’s this?” 

“A phone,” Derek scowled. 

“Okay, yeah, but why?”

“Yours broke.”

“O-Kay,” Stiles said, drawing out the word. 

“Do you want the damn thing or not?” He growled and Stiles hugged the phone to his chest, flinching away.

“Yes, yes, okay. Jeeze. Thank you for the phone, oh mighty SourWolf.”

Derek frowned. “Don’t call me that.”

“Has anyone ever told you, you are like super expressive with your eyebrows?” Stiles asked, quirking his head. 

“Get out.”

“Okay! Okay. Yep. I’m leaving.”

Derek sighed, shaking his head as Stiles scrambled for the door. Idiot.

Scott and Allison were both waiting for him by his car and to be honest, Stiles wasn’t thrilled. He got where Scott was coming from with the whole noble-no-killing thing, but then again, he really didn’t. Even if he did, what he said to Erica was definitely too far. Just thinking about it again made his blood boil. Apparently today was going to test his emotional threshold. 

“How’d that go?” Allison asked. 

“I think I just got the Alpha equivalent to the shovel talk,” he said. “So, terrifying. But hey! He gave me a phone.”

“Sounds like Derek,” she said, amused. “Sour outside, sweet inside.”

“He gave you a phone? What the hell?” Scott asked. 

“Yep,” Stiles said, popping the p sound. “Nice one too. I think it’s actually better than my old one.”

“It’s probably a thank you,” Allison said. “Don’t tell him I said that though.”

“Hopefully Stiles won’t have to be around him enough to have the chance. You about ready to go?” Scott asked. 

“Actually dude, I know I need the pain drain and stuff, but I really just want to go home and sleep in my own bed,” Stiles said. 

Scott shrugged. “Okay. I can come with you. You’re dad will be gone anyway, right? We can just stay up and play games.”

Stiles had to fight back a wince. He honestly just needed some time to process everything. It seemed like stuff was moving too fast, like his whole life was in the way of a particularly large supernatural wrecking ball, and all he could do was brace himself for the hit. 

“It’s okay. I think I’m just going to go home and sleep it off,” he said. 

Scott looked uncertain if that was a good idea. “You sure?” 

“Yeah. We can hang out tomorrow or something, though. I’ll text you when I get up.”

That seemed to placate him, and he nodded. “Alright. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then. Oh! Wait.”

Scott grabbed his arm and did one last pain pull, easing away some of the throbbing in his back. 

“Thanks,” Stiles said, moving his shoulders. “See you tomorrow. Bye, Allison. Thanks again for getting my car.”

“Sure thing,” She said, waving as he got into his car. Stiles didn’t even turn on the radio as he drove home, too lost in thought. He was going to have a busy night.

*****

Stiles was surprised to find that not only did he not have to worry about his phone, his window was fixed. He wasn’t really sure if that was Allison and her dad’s doing, or Derek’s, which was a weird concept to think about. The dude had given him a phone. For free. And how the hell had they even gotten his window fixed it that fast? Stiles didn’t dwell on it too long. He figured he would figure out who it was eventually.

Stiles was kind of glad when he pulled up and saw his dad’s cruiser sitting in the parking lot behind their apartments. He tugged on his sleeves, making sure they were covering his wrists before walking in. 

“Dad?” 

“In the bathroom,” his dad answered.

“Oh. Okay.” 

Stiles dug in the fridge, looking for something to cook and settled for stir fry. The prep was the longest part, and over years of practice, even that didn’t take long. He wasn’t in the mood to spend all night cooking. He pulled out the vegetables and rinsed them off before cutting them up, and by the time his dad came out, he was already throwing the spoils of his labor in a pan. 

“Stop by to get clothes?” He asked, taking his usual spot at the table. 

Stiles shook his head. “Nah. I just decided to come home. What happened with work?”

Noah didn’t question the sudden change of plans. He knew Stiles well enough that he didn’t need to. Things like that would seem easy to most people, but then again, his son was far from being most people. “Parrish took the shift for me. He said I needed to get home and get some sleep, and I wasn’t going to argue.”

“That’s good.” Stiles pushed the vegetables around with his spatula. “So I saw someone today.”

Stiles wasn’t going to do this. He really wasn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

“Oh yeah? Any particular someone, or just a someone in general?” His dad teased.

“A particular someone,” Stiles said, his heart thumping. “Uncle Peter.”

Stiles didn’t dare take a peek over his shoulder, even when the silence stretched so long he thought his father may have vanished into thin air. 

“Dad?” He prodded. “Is that why you didn’t want me looking into the Hale fire?”

Noah cleared his throat. Stiles waited, but it was another long moment before he spoke. “I know we don’t talk about it, son, but you’ve been through so much. You were just a kid and what happened with Claudia...How was I supposed to-when I found out, I just- I couldn’t-“

Stiles finally turned and saw that his eyes were watery, and red-rimmed. 

“You loved him so much. We both did. How was I supposed to tell you what happened?” Noah asked, his voice pleading. 

Stiles didn’t know how to respond. Stiles was only eight when the fire happened. Knowing what happened, he could kind of understand why his dad didn’t tell him. Why tell your kid someone was horribly burned and in a coma when you can give them a nice story about him following his dreams to travel the world?

Stiles walked over to his dad and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, resting his cheek in his hair. 

“Why didn’t you tell me when I was older?” Stiles asked, croakily. “I thought he left me, dad.”

Noah’s shoulders shook, and Stiles grimaced. 

“I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Stiles said, staring unblinking at the wall, as he held his father. “Sometimes some things are just better left secrets. You were just watching out for me.”

“I was,” he agreed, wetly. “I’m still sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Stiles nodded against his hair, then pulled away and went back to the stove. “So, Teriyaki or Mandarin?”

“Teriyaki. God. Please don’t use the Mandarin.”

The rest of the night was uneventful. Stiles found that he was gravitating toward his dad though, setting up shop in the living room to research on his laptop instead of his room. Stiles noticed his father didn’t drink his nightly whiskey, or even a beer. They sat quietly, his dad watching TV, and him focused on reading, but it wasn’t a heavy silence, at least not for Stiles. It was just quiet. Calm. Peaceful. When his father stood up, stretching and said he was going to bed, Stiles felt panic grip in his chest. 

“D-dad?”

“Yeah?” Noah asked, his brows furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

“I know this sounds stupid, but can I sleep with you tonight? I’ll bring my own blanket so I don’t hog all of yours,” Stiles said. 

Noah nodded, understandingly. It had been a while, almost three years now, but this used to be a somewhat common occurrence. Every once in a blue moon, usually around the anniversary of Claudia’s death, Stiles would start having nightmares again, and Noah would wake up with Stiles at the foot of his bed. They never talked about it, just took it for what it was, and let it go. 

“Sure. Whenever your ready, just head in.”

Stiles researched until he was falling asleep at his desk. He pulled on some old baggy PJ’s and made sure that even when he lifted his arms, his shirt didn’t ride up, before grabbing his blanket. By the time he managed to crawl into bed, it was around 2 AM. Only when he was sure his dad was asleep and undisturbed by his presence, did he relax into his dad’s warmth and allow himself to finally cry himself quietly to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? I’d love to hear from you!(:


	5. Play Pretend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles’ past  
> Daddy Stilinski  
> School about a week and a half later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this is later than I expected. My son had to have surgery, so I’ve been out of commission. He’s doing better now and I finally finished! Thanks for tuning back in(:

After Derek and Stiles' talk, everyone slowly dwindled away until it only the house's residents left. That was fairly typical, except for Peter being included in that list. If anyone ever stayed late, it was usually Jackson or Boyd, but that only happened on occasion. Everyone had their own families and obligations to tend to outside of the Pack. 

Peter hadn't been down again since retreating from the meeting, and Derek wondered if it was from his initially cold greeting. He hadn't meant to come off so unaccepting, as their relationship was much better than it had been in the beginning, but since he hadn't known he was invited by Lydia, he hoped Peter would understand. Maybe working together would help mend some of their anger toward him, but Derek wasn't getting his hopes up. 

Derek sometimes felt strangely lonely with such a small pack, and their incapability to stay close, but it was infinitely better than what he had a year ago so he couldn't bring himself to complain. He knew this was going to be a problem when Laura took them in as her Betas, and he even tried convincing her to only take them in temporarily. There were plenty of other well-established Packs that would have been willing to take them in after they graduated, but Laura was insistent that since it was Peter that bit them, it was her obligation to make sure they thrived. 

Derek was actually glad his older sister didn't listen to him, no matter how much harder it made some things. Having a Pack again, whether they were able to be around as much as he wanted them to or not, gave him a sort of family he never thought he'd have again since he saw his house engulfed in flames and smoke. 

"Dinner almost done?" 

Derek looked up at Cora as she swung around the door frame into the kitchen. 

"Yeah. Maybe 5 minutes," Derek said. 

Cora nodded then eyed Isaac, who was leaned back in his chair on the back two legs, messing around on his phone. Cora smirked, thinking to herself how it would be too easy, too funny not to take advantage of the opportunity in front of her. She nudged the back of his chair with her foot and Isaac gasped, his hands slapping onto the table to catch himself at the last moment. She burst out laughing. 

"You brat!" 

Isaac jumped up and scrubbed his fingers all her head in retaliation, turning her perfectly straighthair into tussled mess, thickets of strands sticking out in a dozen different directions. Cora obviously wasn't expecting that and gaped at him, but that only made him grin harder when.

"Isaac!" She whined, attempting to pat it back down. "I seriously just straightened it."

"You'll be fine," he rolled his eyes. Cora scowled and hopped up on the counter, then perked, stealing a garlic knot from the heaping plate next to the stove. "You do realize we have chairs right?"

Cora flipped him off. 

"So why exactly did you do your hair at 8 PM on a Saturday ?" Derek asked. 

Cora shrugged. "Study group. I was just coming to tell you Nina was on her way."

"Study group. At 8 on a Saturday?" Derek repeated skeptically, opening the oven. "That's the best you could come up with?"

Cora's face darkened and Derek sighed internally. Would there ever come a day when they could have one conversation without fighting? He really doubted it. They were like this way before the fire, and it had only gotten worse since Laura sent her away. 

"You said you wouldn't do that heartbeat bullshit with me," Cora snapped, her eyes sharp. "You promised."

"I didn't have to with such a blatant lie. You're 16. If you want to run around with your friends, fine. I don't care. We've discussed the things I really care about, and as long as you follow those rules, I don't care. I just want to know where you are," Derek said. 

Cora studied his face, trying to figure out if he was being genuine. Derek had told her when she decided to come live with him that he would give her more freedom than what she had living with the Pack in South America, not that it was a high bar to meet, but she still expected him to be a wet blanket, if she was being honest. He looked up and quirked an eyebrow at her. 

"We're breaking into the old hospital with a few friends," Cora said, tentatively.

Isaac laughed, punching her adoringly in the shoulder. "Badass. My little rebel."

Cora's eyes shone at the praise. She loved Derek and Jackson like brothers, but Isaac she actually looked up to. He was the only guy she knew that went through trauma and didn't come out completely anger driven. She wished she could be like that. 

And Derek had forgotten Isaac was even there. "Illegal stuff wasn't included in the 'okay' list Cor."

Cora started to protest, but he cut her off. "So don't get caught. Take the bat with you."

Cora blinked, then looked at Derek like he had completely lost his mind. "What the hell am I going to do with a freaking baseball bat, Derek?" 

"Hit people? Boys, probably," Isaac said with a grin plastered on his face. Cora looked to Derek and he shrugged like, "well, maybe." 

For someone who pretended to be a badass, Derek was such a big brother. Even if he was still working at better at being alpha and everyone else was still kind of scared of him, Isaac got to see mushy brother Derek. It made liking and sympathizing with the dude a lot easier. 

Cora threw a Garlic Knot at Isaac, and laughed when he plucked it out of his hair with a frown, grease and garlic making it shine. 

"Needed a shower anyway," he muttered. 

A few minutes later, a horn honked outside and Cora looked at the food with longing. He knew lasagna was probably one of her favorite meals, and shook his head, smiling at how quickly her face had fallen at the idea of missing out on it. He quickly cut a big square of lasagna out and threw a few knots into a to-go box and handed it to her. 

"Hurry up. I want you back before midnight," he said. She bent over, giving him a kiss on the cheek, before hopping down and running out the door. 

"The bat, Cora!" Derek yelled. 

She popped her head back in to grab the bat by the door, then grinned and waved excitedly. "Thanks, D. Night guys!"

Derek and Isaac talked for a bit as they ate, mostly about school and the remaining rooms that needed to be furnished. Luckily Isaac steered away from any hard conversations. It was one of the things Derek really appreciated about his friendship. He liked to show his fangs and growl as much as the rest of them, but he was really one of the only ones (meaning one of two) who knew when to shut up. Derek meant that in the nicest way. 

Isaac retreated to his bedroom shortly after dinner, which was understandable considering how late he was up the night before, but Derek waited a few minutes to make sure Isaac wasn't going to come back out before trudging up the stairs. 

When rebuilding the Hale House, Laura wanted to expand, even though their old home was already quite large in its own right. By the time she added everything she wanted, it had almost doubled in size. She was the one who had the plans drawn up, making sure the architect kept as much of the structure of the bare bones of the house as possible, even if it was Derek who had to follow through with getting it built. He was glad she did at least that before leaving though, because now all of the betas had their own space, and there were even a few extra rooms in case they decided to take anyone else in. 

When Derek offered Peter his own space about a week after everything was built, he almost expected Peter to take the room that was the equivalent of his own before the fire, which would have been downstairs, putting himself between any potential threat that could walk in the door and the rest of the Pack, but he didn't. He took one of the upstairs bedrooms, claiming he needed a change of scenery. It wasn't a problem so much as strange, so Derek didn't argue. 

Derek stopped at the door, just staring at it for a moment before knocking. He would be lying if he said he wasn't conflicted about coming up. As much as he wanted-no, needed- to know, seeing Peter as he was earlier, gave him a flicker of recognition of the Peter he grew up with. It felt wrong to taint that with questions he obviously didn't answer, but Derek didn't have any other choice. 

The door opened almost immediately, so Derek figured Peter must have been expecting him. Instead of being dressed down for bed, he was still in his day clothes, though they looked slightly disheveled. Derek was sure if Peter were in the mood he would pick and prod at him, saying how predictable he was for showing up, but for now he just looked inconvenienced. 

"How can I help you, Nephew?" 

Derek nodded toward the inside of the room, and after a moment, Peter begrudgingly moved aside. His room was so unlike his old one, just holding his bed, a chair, a few books splayed open on the wooden desk in the corner, and a suitcase full of clothes. Peter was never messy, but his old room was something of a mini museum. He had a hobby of collecting magical totems and artifacts, his walls lined floor to ceiling in hand build book cases. 

"I assume you are here to pry into things I have no desire sharing?" Peter asked, shutting the door behind him, then crossing his arms as he leaned against the edge of his desk. 

Derek nodded once. 

"At least you're honest. I'll have you know, though, you're interrupting my very important research time."

Derek ignored him. It was the only way to keep any conversation on track with him. "I remember you leaving when we were kids."

Peter raised a brow. "And what is it you think you remember?"

Derek's brows furrowed, searching his brain as he had all day. "I remember mom telling you to be careful and to not stay away too long, because the Pack needed you home too. When I asked where you were going she said you had to do something for her and you wouldn't be back for a while. I asked what, but she said that it didn't concern me."

"And it doesn't now," Peter said pointedly. 

"It does, though," Derek argued, trying and failing to keep the anger born of insecurity out of his voice. This was one thing he hated about being around his Uncle. He wasn't just some pup trying desperately to gain his elders approval and prove his worth, like he used to be. He had long given up on ever wishing for either. "I'm the Alpha, regardless of what I want. We don't know what he is, and you have a history with him. I saw how much seeing him rattled you."

Peter nodded in agreement. "It was definitely a surprise. As for what he is, I looked over what Lydia sent me again. I've never heard of anything like it."

Derek scrutinized him, searching for any strange wording or underlying meanings, but ultimately found he believed Peter. 

"I need to know everything," Derek said, calming himself. "I don't like unknown variables hanging around my Pack."

The weight of those words, though seemingly innocent and benign, were almost crushing. Peter could not only feel it, he could see it like a funeral veil hanging over all of them. Cora, who hid behind her anger, always pushing everyone who got too close away, picking on them even when they did. Derek undeniably tense in front of him, always rigid with residual anger-candied self-loathing. It was something that Peter could always see, what anyone could if they knew where to look, but even more so for him because he felt it too. 

What he didn't see was the fear Derek had been holding back all day. Fear that bloomed from being sucked in, feeling for Stiles when Scott was being stupid, the gratefulness he felt toward him to see his Pack together, and the elation that followed the initial shock of his sister looking so unburdened with Stiles. Derek didn't just _feel_ things like that, not in any normal capacity. The fact that he was for someone who meant nothing to him was putting him on edge in the worst way. He knew a pretty face and words weren't always what they seemed to be, but the others didn't, and that scared him as much as this unprecedented wash of emotions. He needed to know if Stiles was dangerous, if not for himself, then for them. Derek steeled mask faltered. 

"Please, Peter."

Peter's chest rose and fell, and he nodded slowly, trying not to seem too eager. He already planned to recount his version of events to Derek, but he didn't need to know that. 

Usually, Peter would have avoided and evaded his way out of an explanation, maybe convinced Derek he didn't want to know, or even just resorted to lying. He didn't make a habit of doling out information without a price. Secrets were power, after all. It was something he'd learned fairly early in life, out of necessity. It was amazing how many things you could accomplish with a well timed scandal, or who's influence you could win over with a few whispered words over a dinner table. However, biding his time could only hurt in this situation. If the Paxk continued to press, there was a possibility Stiles would read into his reluctance, or Derek could force his hand around the others, and he did not like either of those options. 

"What do you know of Stiles already?"

"Not much," Derek admitted, shifting uneasily. "His father is the Sheriff. His mother is dead. He's in the same grade as the others, a year above Cora, and what happened with Gerard. That's all."

Peter expected as much. Talia was pretty good at keeping secrets, herself. 

"When your mother was still in High School, our Pack got a message from a young Spark from Poland, requesting sanctuary."

"Stiles' mother?" Derek guessed. 

Peter nodded. "Claudia."

The name tickled the back of Derek's mind, but he couldn't muster much more than the vague feeling of familiarity. He couldn't see any memories of her face or how she sounded, nothing but the fact that he had definitely heard her name before, and on more than one occasion. 

"She was on her own, trying to figure out who she was, what she was capable of. She didn't have much to go on, as Sparks are fairly rare, so when she heard of our Pack, and our families prestige within the supernatural world. she went to find us."

Derek frowned. "So, could Stiles-"

"No," Peter interjected, already knowing what he was going to say. "Stiles isn't a Spark. Their abilities aren't genetic. Sparks are chosen similarly to the way the Alpha's are chosen, except the Magic of a Spark can lay dormant for dozens to hundreds of years, travel across millions of miles, and still not choose a new host for it's power. You'd be lucky to find more than one Spark in a generation, much less two in the same family line, which is probably a good thing. That much power is a lot to control."

"So the Pack took her in?"

Peter nodded. "She was intelligent. Beautiful. A bit of a spitfire, but she was very well loved by your mother and the rest of the Pack. Talia took one look at the girl and granted her request. We were younger then, but she was still very much our Alpha since our mother was busy withering away in her bed. Talia always had a knack for picking out the broken ones, and even if our mother disproved, her word didn't hold as strong as Talia's. The Alpha Spark was already as good as hers."

Peter's nose scrunched in distaste, but Derek recognized it wasn't toward his mother, or the fact that he wasn't chosen for Alpha. Derek didn't know much about his grandparents, but he could read between the lines. His mother never spoke of them, and when they were brought up, they were hushed away like a curse word. Talia had always acted more like a parental figure to Peter than a sister , and there was usually a reason behind the oldest sibling taking that responsibility. There was no love lost there. 

"She took to the Pack like a duck to water, if I'm honest. She started learning how to hone her magic, making leaps and bounds in her abilities, creating her own spells, and helping us out in any way she could. After about two years she was offered a permanent position in our Pack and she and Talia only grew closer. Even after Claudia married Noah, they still talked every day. Then one night a few years later, Talia came to me crying, telling me she messed up. She was frantic and inconsolable, repeating the same words over and over; that it was her fault, and she never should have interfered. I tried to pry from her what was happening, but in the end, she didn't have to tell me. It was all over town the next morning that a child had been kidnapped by his mother. Claudia was ill, by this time, and had been slowly declining in health. A human disease. Frontotemporal dementia."

Peter paused, tapping on his forearm, remembering how awful that time had been. Claudia was losing time, forgetting where she was and what she was doing. It was hard on all of them. Talia offered her the bite, but magic and werewolves didn't mix well. On the rare occasions that a magic user accepted the bite, one of two things happened. Either the bite would override the magic and they would become magicless werewolves, or the magic would fight it, and the user would die. Peter wasn't sure if it was the higher chance of death that dissuaded her, though. It was much more likely the definitive outcome of losing her magic. 

When she left with Stiles, they looked everywhere, but Claudia was nothing if not intelligent. If she didn't want to be found, there was probably no person on Earth, supernatural or otherwise, that could track her down. 

"Talia went to Noah the day before when she couldn't get ahold of Claudia, and he said that she was going to spend the remainder of her life in the hospital ward. She apparently thought, in one of her bouts of delirium, that Stiles was trying to kill her, and she attacked him. She threw him back so hard he ended up having to get stitches in the back of his head from where he hit the edge of the coffee table. Talia was devastated. She didn't realize how bad it was, and she started yelling, accusing Noah of lying, that he was giving up on her, and she was going to die if he stuck her in the hospital. She said he should be ashamed of himself. Noah relented, and the night he brought her home, Stiles was taken."

"But they found him?" Derek asked, eyes hard. 

Peter sighed. "They did, two weeks later, crying and covered in his mother's blood outside of a hotel in Texas."

Derek tried to absorb that, but he was having a hard time believing a five year old could kill an adult woman. 

"How?" Derek finally asked. 

"Nobody knows," Peter said, pressing his lips together with a small shrug. "The police questioned him but apparently the trauma was too much. He blocked it all out. He told them what he could remember leading up to that day, but all he knew was that when he woke up, his mother was dead."

"What...What did she do to him?" Derek asked lowly. He wasn't really sure he wanted to know. 

"It's not my place to share that," Peter said, then his voice turned dark. "Let's just say, if Stiles hadn't killed her, she would have died handcuffed to a hospital bed alone, disease or not."

Derek swallowed and his brows stayed pulled together. "So where do you come into this?"

Peter sighed, an almost wistful look coming over his face. "Understandably, Noah wanted nothing to do with Talia, despite her repeated efforts. Since he didn't know me, Talia ordered me to befriend him, and keep tabs on him and Stiles. I was-well, let's just say I wasn't pleased. I threw a tantrum, telling her that being invasive was what got her into the situation, but when I finally conceded, it was easier than anything I've ever done in my life. Noah wasn't doing okay for a long time. I'm sure you're aware of how much grief can change someone. He needed help and had nobody to turn to and I was happy to change that. When he got asked to go to Sacramento to be a Deputy and left Beacon Hills about two years later, I didn't hesitate to follow."

Derek could see Peter getting lost in his own story, talking more to himself than Derek, but he listened intently. It wasn't often that Peter said this much, opened up about anything that really meant anything, especially not their family. It was something they all had in common. 

"It was rough sometimes. Some nights Stiles would call me in the middle of the night, saying his father never came home, and I would have to drive hours away just to find him. When I finally managed to drag him home, Stiles would just be sitting there in the living room, eating ice cream out of the tub on the floor in front of the TV, looking so tiny and without a care in the world. Those were just the bad times though. Most of the time, things were good. Fun, even."

As much as he loved his family, Peter never really felt like he fit into his life. He was a jagged piece, just on the edge of their life, watching and protecting without actually being involved. He was close to the younger kids, and they looked up to him, but being with Noah and Stiles was different. They both accepted him in a way that he craved more than anything. Even the worst nights near the beginning, when Peter held Noah next to the toilet, brushing his fingers through his hair as he cried, were nights he never wished to forget. 

Derek couldn't keep looking at the pained smile on his Uncle's face so he turned to the window, despite it being too dark and too far away for him to see much. It didn't seem real. Stiles was weird, but he wasn't a quiet, broody, angry, traumatized mess like Derek was. He was talkative and hyper and too snarky for his own good. It was just hard to imagine him going through so much. Then again, the kid had been making jokes the whole time he was strapped to the damn Vet's table, so maybe it wasn't so far fetched. 

"Okay," Derek said, evenly. "Thank you for telling me."

Peter knocked twice on the table with his knuckles in acknowledgement, then peeked up at Derek, leveling him with a look. 

"I know the Pack will be gnawing at the bit to hear about our relationship, but Stiles probably wouldn't appreciate learning our relationship was born out of an obligation from his mother's friend," Peter said, his voice laced with warning. "I'd like to keep this between us, for now."

Derek didn't look up. "What do I tell them?"

"Nothing," Peter said easily. "Let Stiles tell his version. I assure you they will be less than surprised to hear I was not forthcoming." 

"Fine, but I want you looking into what he is," Derek said, his tone turning stern as he walked to the door, opening it and pausing in the threshold. "I know it may be hard to put aside past feelings, but you know better than anyone that safety of the pack comes above everything else."

"You don't have to worry about that. I made it my first priority the moment I realized it was him," Peter grinned, tauntingly. "The monster will have to wait."

Derek narrowed his eyes but couldn't think of a viable argument so he settled for mumbling a grumpy, "Whatever. Let's just hope we figure out what he is before Gerard does."

Derek shut the door behind him and Peter's smile slowly faded, listening to Derek's footsteps as they descended the stairs, waiting until he was far enough for the sound to disappear altogether, then turned to look to the book currently open in the center of the desk. He traced over the words with three gentle fingers and sucked his teeth, the incredulous anger from earlier still brewing in his chest. 

Peter hadn't lied. He didn't know what Stiles was, and if he was right, nobody ever would, no matter how much they researched. If you would have asked him a week ago if he thought any of this was possible, he would have said no, but now, even without having all the necessary information, he was sure that he was right. There would only be one reason for his eyes turning black, and that only opened a plethora of new questions. Peter didn't know what they were dealing with, and what that meant for him, for Stiles, for all of them, he couldn’t bring himself to imagine, but one thing was for sure. No matter how much he'd tried to keep Stiles from getting involved in the Pack as a child, there was no keeping him away now.

"What the _hell_ did you do, Talia?" He seethed. 

****

Noah woke up before his alarm but that in itself wasn't abnormal. His internal alarm helped him on more than one occasion when the electricity had gone out after a storm, or when he was too tired to press save when setting his phone alarm. It was a bit odd since his schedule wasn't exactly a set routine right now, but he wondered if it was because he was aware of Stiles, even in his sleep, and didn't want to wake him. 

He pulled back the blankets, careful not to disturb his son, who was curled into a ball beside him. Noah's lip quirked up. Normally Stiles was a wild sleeper, limbs splayed out, mouth gaping open, but he looked almost like a puppy sleeping this way, knees tucked tightly against his chest. As much as he was worried that Stiles was having a setback in his behavior, he also couldn't help but feel proud that Stiles was asking for help when he needed it. That wasn't always the case, and Noah knew that was largely his fault, not being as dependable as he should have been as a father when Stiles was growing up. Maybe Stiles coming to bed with him was a sign that things were changing. Hopefully for the best. 

Noah pulled his comforter over Stiles' Star Wars fleece, and Stiles melted into the warmth, nuzzling his face into the bare mattress.

Noah turned to the closet, opening it up and pulling out his last clean uniform and a white crew neck t-shirt, then reached into his drawers for socks and underwear. He was about to shut the doors, but instead glanced toward the back of his closet, something he'd done a lot over the years, and after a minute of burning hesitation, he placed his clothes on the bed. He slid all of his clothes filled hangers to one side, the sound of them scraping against the metal rod making him wince. He peeked over his shoulder, but the noise didn't seem to bother Stiles. He pulled the light string, and there at the very end of the rack, was a brown V-neck. 

Noah reached out, taking the end seam gently between his fingers and rubbed his thumb along the soft heather material. When he forced himself to hang it up in his closet over a week ago, he felt stupid for feeling broken up about it. He was still just a lovesick kid holding on desperately to a token of an old withered flame, but now all he felt was the overwhelming, anxious _need_ to see Peter again. It was amazing how much could change in such little time. 

Noah never expected Peter to be back. 

It took what Noah thought was hours, but could have easily been minutes or even days, to finally feel like he could breathe again after getting the call about The Hale fire. He saw the shattered look on the Hale siblings face, the smoldering remnants of the house, but it wasn't until he was able to lay his eyes on Peter that he believed the story at all. 

Noah shook his head. He didn't want to think of Peter that way: bandaged, raw and bleeding, the smell of ash and smoke still hanging in the air even through the bleach and several weeks of new bandages. He would have come back in a heartbeat there was any chance Peter could heal. No matter what they had to go through, rehab, therapy, surgeries, he was willing to be by his side. Peter would have done the same for him. But the problem was, there was nothing he _could_ do. They told Noah he would never wake up. 

Then the next he heard, Peter was gone with the wind after miraculously waking up from his six year long coma, going to find some famous plastic surgeon overseas. It was shocking, to say the least. He kept waiting to hear something from him, anything to prove he was alive and well, but after leaving him in the hospital alone, he couldn't really blame Peter for not reaching out. 

And Stiles...well. Lying to Stiles about Peter wasn't his most shining moment, and there would be no easy way to explain why he did. It wasn't fair to Stiles, but after two nights of sobbing at Peter's bedside, and weeks of seeing no life in the body he was visiting twice a week, he had to make a decision. He wasn't letting Stiles lose yet another person he loved. 

But it turned out that the decision meant Peter lost both of them, instead. 

Noah tugged on the shirt, making one shoulder slip from the hanger before falling limply into his hand and he pulled it close to his chest, his knees unsteady. He buried his face into its coolness, but it had been years since he inhaled the last remnants of Peter's scent left clinging to the fibers. It didn't stop him from trying though. He bent into a crouch, hunched over, then fell to his knees, his chest feeling like lead. He sat there that way, trying to push away the tears and guilt and remorse he so stupidly let show the night before. 

After a minute, he sniffled loudly, clearing his throat of the desperation and aching guilt, and instead of hanging it up again, he walked over to the bed and tucked it back in its rightful place under his pillow. He spared one last glance at Stiles, how peaceful he looked in the face of his turmoil, and grabbed his things to take a shower. 

*********

Stiles was over school for the week. Especially math. 

Sure, he was decent at it. He was good at almost everything in school if he could find the time and focus to actually do his work. Not only did he end up staying up until almost two studying for this stupid test, now he was having to do it when he could be stuffing his face. Sitting here in the cafeteria, watching as Scott bit his tongue in concentration, trying to absorb what Stiles had been trying to pound into his head in the thirty minutes they had left before lunch let out felt stupidly mundane knowing what he knew now. 

Stiles zipped up his jacket and slid his hands into the pockets, fishing out another pencil, and started doodling an angry werewolf on a post it note. The eyes were already a little wonky but it was a work in progress, okay? Plus, art was a great way to express his feelings without actually expressing them.

"You guys are hopeless," said Lydia, her strawberry blonde ringlets dancing around her head as she shook it. She peeked over at Stiles' drawing, but he quickly covered it with his arm, leveling her with a disapproving look. She rolled her eyes, but didn't try to peek again. 

"You look like you're dying," agreed Isaac, picking absentmindedly at the grapes on his plate. "Why do you even try? You know you're going to fail it anyway."

"Hey! I'm catching on," Scott said, defensively. His confidence faltered under Lydias almost palpable skepticism, and he grimaced at his paper. "I think."

"Maybe if you guys would study instead of staying up all night playing video games, then you wouldn't have to cram three chapters worth of information in twenty minutes," she said pointedly. 

Stiles tilted his head, shrugging at Scott's expression as if to say, "probably right." They had every intention of actually studying yesterday after yet another pain drain session. Until they didn't. Pizza rolls and video games had called out to them, and by god did they answer. He had a rough start here and this week so far hadn't been much better. Excuse him if he wanted a bit of normalcy for a while. 

"Don't look at Stiles to save you," Allison chastised, only the faint tilt of her lips giving any sign of her amusement. "I told you like ten times that I could help you study Saturday night, but you just had to study with Stiles."

"If we studied like we were supposed to Saturday, I probably wouldn't have asked you out," Scott pointed out. 

"Yeah, yeah," Allison mused, giving his hand a faint squeeze under the table then tapping on his paper. 

Stiles had to actively fight the urge to roll his eyes when Scott went right back to work with newfound fervor. He loved Scotty, but he was soooo whipped. 

Jackson plopped down across from Stiles and Cora and Stiles wondered if that was for some reason going to be the new normal. 

"Maybe he will get an A for effort. Last minute, half-assed effort, but still effort," Stiles said, peeling the plastic open on his lunchable. 

"Doubt it," Erica mused. 

Scott slid his paper over to Stiles. He took it between his fingers and scanned his eyes over his work, feeling much more like a teacher than he ever wanted to in a million years. He shook his head, pointing to a problem and shoved a double decker cracker sandwich in his mouth. "Dude, I told you three times you only use this formula on problems like this. These ones you use this one."

"Stiles, swallow first. We've talked about this," Lydia groaned. "I can't deal with half eaten crumbs all over the table."

Stiles swallowed hard, the salt from the crackers making his mouth dry. "Sorry."

"Man this sucks. It's too hard to balance everything," Scott groaned. "Between patrols, school, and all of this other stuff, it's almost impossible."

"I love you man, but your time management is maybe like 10% the issue here. I would spout out more percentages, but judging by your math skills, I don't think you could keep up," Stiles teased, tapping his pencil on the table. He looked over at the clock. Only ten minutes left. "Besides, didn't Derek only give you weekend patrols?"

_Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap-_

"Still," Scott pouted. "It just makes it harder for me to do anything other than school."

_Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap-_

Jackson smacked Stiles hand down, glaring at him. "Can you not do that?"

Stiles raised his eyebrows, all smirk and wide, faux innocent eyes. He flipped his hand over and intertwined his fingers with Jackson's. "Want me to do you instead?"

Boyd snorted, almost spitting water all over the table and Scott rolled his eyes, shaking his head with quiet laughter. Stiles always made Scott laugh, but to make Boyd laugh? That was a victory. 

"God, he's just like Derek," Cora laughed. 

”Almost freaky, right?” Isaac agreed, looking kind of grossed out more than freaked. 

"Except Derek isn't a complete tool," Jackson snapped. He yanked his hand away from Stiles’ octopus grip then took the book sitting in front of Stiles and slid it down the table so hard it cleared the full length and landed with a clap on the floor. 

"Seriously Jackson? That was mine," Lydia growled. Jackson only looked mildly repentant, but even that disappeared when he noticed Stiles smiling smugly.  
Jackson reached over and thumped him. 

"Ow!" He pressed his palm to his forehead, bending over dramatically. "Pain, man. You have wolfie strength, remember? I'm just a poor wizard."

"Not a wizard," Lydia sighed. 

"Then what am I? Huh?" Stiles challenged, quirking his head obnoxiously. Lydia raised a brow, but didn't have an answer. "A wizard," Stiles said definitively. 

Jackson ignored both of them, pointing his fork at Scott. 

"You get kicked off lacrosse for the six weeks I will end you, McCall. I'm going to be pissed if we are two wolves down this cycle," Jackson said, stabbing his fork into his food. 

"It wouldn't be the full six weeks! Just until I get my grades up," Scott grumbled. 

"Wait. Two down?" Isaac asked, perching his body halfway onto the table. "What the hell?"

Boyd looked down, his face tinged pink. "Yeah, I didn't really turn in the big research project due last Saturday night on account of almost dying. My average tanked."

They all fell silent in sympathy, and Stiles shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling a little to big in his skin. Stiles was beginning to wonder if people remembered that at all. They talked about wolves and magic and Packs, but it was like since the kidnapping happened in the past, they were never going to mention it again. Even Erica, who he figured would at least still be mad at Scott, had been pretending the conversation never happened since last Monday. 

Don't get him wrong, Stiles was good at pretending, too. 

In second grade, Stiles came up with the great idea to have Scott pull him on his skateboard while he rode his bike. Scott was hesitant at first, but Stiles was nothing if not resilient, and finally Scott relented. Unsurprisingly, not even five minutes later, Stiles ate the pavement. Scott freaked out, panicking and on the verge of an asthma attack, so Stiles sucked it up, pretended he was fine and laughing it off as blood ran down his chin and both knees. He managed to talk Scott down and even helped him until the jump rope so they wouldn't get in trouble. Nobody got yelled at for wrecking their skateboard. 

Then when Stiles was 14, he was looking through the mail for coupons and he accidentally found a receipt mashed between two bills for the PlayStation his dad got him for Christmas. He never said a peep about it, and when he opened it Christmas morning, you better believe he acted excited. Okay, maybe he didn't have to act for the excited part, but he did have to act like he didn't expect anything big up until that point, and he did a pretty good job, if he did say so himself. 

There were other times that came to mind, but he didn't like to think about those. He'd rather remember Christmas and being dumb with Scott. 

No matter how good he was at pretending, though, he could still feel all of the negative feelings he accumulated that weekend gnawing and clawing their way to the front from the dark recesses of his mind. Nothing really felt like he thought it should. It was like he was playing a role instead of living, or like he was watching himself outside of his body. His whole world tilted on its axis, swaying and pulling everything to a uneasy slant that Stiles didn't know how to fix. 

Acknowledging those feelings and remembering why they were there was not something he wanted to do, and apparently he wasn't alone in that. 

Erica shrugged nonchalantly, seeming unbothered by the sudden reminder of her kidnapping. "It was stupid anyway. It's not like he will ever need to know human history."

"Except to play lacrosse," Lydia said, looking just as relieved as Stiles that the tension had broken. 

"True," Scott said. "But I can understand-"

"Focus!" Allison whined, playfully jabbing him in the side several times. "I don't need you grounded from me either."

Scott squirmed away, laughing, then mumbled something under his breath and continued working. 

"Allison, did you talk to your dad about when we could start weapon training?" Lydia asked. 

Stiles mind started on a downward spiral. He tried to focus on what they were saying, but the words just seemed to mesh and mold together into a cacophony of nonsense. He could hear Erica's screaming reverberate off the wall, and the crack of the baton across Boyd's head. He could feel the slashing of the whip on his skin and the look of terror etched on both of their faces. Aimed toward him. That was the worst part. They were scared of Psychopath but they were even more scared of him. He tapped his fingers against his thumb, focusing on the feeling. Forefinger, middle, ring, pinky, forefinger, middle ring, pinky, forefinger, middle-

"Stiles?"

Stiles' eyes snapped up. "Huh?"

Boyd eyed him. "You okay?"

"Just thinking." Stiles had mastered the "not lying" thing a long time ago. It's a good thing he was warned about that. "What's up?"

"It's just...you're heartbeat is-uhm," Boyd realized everyone was looking at them and picked up his roll, nibbling at the edge. "Nevermind." 

Everyone waited until Boyd shook his head almost imperceptibly, then turned back to their respective conversations. 

"Anyway, you coming to the pack training? Derek didn't say exactly what we were doing today but it could be fun to watch even if you can't join," Erica said, trying for unconcerned but missing the mark. 

"I can't," Stiles replied. "Deaton gave me some materials to go over when he took off my bandages yesterday. Plus, I'm not sure your Alpha really wants me around if he can help it."

Equal parts true and false. He definitely _could_ go, but he didn't want to. No desire. He was cool with their Wolfy tendencies, but he needed a little bit of distance until he could figure out what he was and what his place in this big pot of crazy was. He really didn't want to get on Derek's bad side either. 

Jackson shoulder checked him with a small growl. "Don't be stupid."

Stiles scoffed, and thought about hitting him back for good measure for a moment, but he knew it would ultimately just result in more pain for him. He looked down at the sticky note between his cupped hands and smiled wickedly. 

"Jackson's right. He's only like that because he's protective," Boyd said with a shrug. "I wouldn't take it personally."

"Maybe you should pounce on him, show him how unthreatening you are," Erica said, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"Why do I get the feeling you've thought about that scenario way more than I'd be comfortable with? Am I just a sexual object to you?" Stiles asked. 

"Absolutely. And I'm sure I'm not the only one whose thought about it. Right, Isaac?"

Isaac's face flushed for real this time, a bright horrifying shade of red. "God. Who hurt you?"

Erica cackled and Stiles shook his head. If he'd learned anything in his second week with them, it was that Erica would literally do anything to embarrass Isaac. For someone who had ladies lining down the block, for God's sake, he sure was easy to fluster. 

"We all know that only pouncing that goes on within the pack is with you and Allison." Stiles said.

"Me and Allison?" Erica asked, her voice almost a squeal. 

"No. Ew. God. I was implying that you're both dominant in your relationships. Scott is whipped and you've got Boyd wrapped hardcore," he said, screwing up his face. Then he shrugged, making an almost concerned face. "But now I'd really like to see that. Weird. Maybe we are more alike than I thought."

"Me too," Scott said, dreamily. 

Allison rolled her eyes, smiling. "You guys are ridiculous."

"Is it though?" Boyd asked, looking amused. "Because if I recall correctly..."

Allison cut him off as she flung herself across the table, hands swatting at Boyd. "Will-you-hush?"

"Holy crap. I missed something. What the hell did I miss?" Stiles asked, exasperated. 

"The last time the pack had wolfsbane whiskey, we all woke up from a long night of drinking to find Allison was cuddled up very intimately with Erica," Jackson explained, smirking. "There's a reason Derek hates when we bring up drinking. The guys stunk up the pack house for hours."

Stiles looked to Scott who was grinning, nodding his head. Of course he missed the cuddles! Who would choose cuddles over torture? Stiles sighed. At least he could live vicariously through Scott. 

"Cuddling is super normal in packs," said Allison, her cheeks pink. "We do it all the time. It's not as weird as it sounds, Stiles."

"I agree. I think the weird part of that situation was the boys creeping at them for like an hour," Cora said, bemused. 

"Not even a little bit surprised. You should have heard Scott spew sonnets about Allison the first time he saw her in running shorts for track practice," Stiles said. 

The table erupted in their own stories about Scott and Allison, and they both took it in stride, actually seeming to glow under the apparent approval of their relationship. 

"I'm glad we can talk about this stuff again," Erica said. "If we had to spend a whole lunch period talking about lacrosse again, I was going to die."

Stiles flinched. 

"Yeah it sucked," Jackson agreed. "Even worse since we had to keep railing on Scott to stop making werewolf comments every five seconds."

Lydia didn't hesitate to agree with that. She was surprised Stiles didn't learn about them sooner with how often Scott let little hints drop. 

The bell rang and Scott cursed under his breath. "Anyone want to kill me now?"

"Dude! Don't say that. You're going to jinx it," Stiles said, putting his backpack on his shoulder. Stiles and Scott watched with the same goofy grin as Jackson walked out of the cafeteria with a very poorly drawn werewolf on his back. 

"If you don't get your grades up, we won't have to kill him," said Allison, putting her arms around both Scott and Stiles. "I'm sure Melissa will be way ahead of us."

*****

Scott sighed dramatically as Ms. Flemming handed out their math tests. They had known it was coming since last Tuesday, but that didn't make it any less boring. Or any easier. Stiles waited until Ms. Flemming was passed his chair and mimed shooting himself, then pointed to Scott, a dopey grin on his face. Scott shot him a rather obscene gesture, to which Stiles was very accustomed to, but also appalled by, judging from the hurt look on his face. 

Scott snickered. 

"Is there a problem, Mr. McCall?" Ms. Flemming asked, her arms crossed against her chest. "Am I not doing well in my explanation of the test?"

"No ma'am. I mean, yes ma'am. You are," Scott sputtered. "Doing a good job, that is."

"I, for one, think you are doing a stunning job," Stiles added, cheekily, leaning back in his seat and craning his neck to look at Scott. Scott closed his eyes, and had to fight to keep in a groan. Of course Stiles was going to talk. When didn't Stiles talk? 

"A math test has never sounded so," Stiles hummed in thought, "exquisite." 

Ms. Flemming scowled, twisting the lid of her marker between her fingers. 

"Enough of your blab, Stiles. May I continue or do you have more to add?"

"Add. Ha! Good one. Math class and-okay. I'll shut up." Stiles said, visibly cringing as he sank into his seat. 

Ms. Flemming finished up her review and they got to work. About halfway through his test, Stiles looked up to find not only Scott, but Isaac looking more than a little distressed, Isaac's looking like they were expecting him to build a spaceship out of popsicle sticks and Scott more or less looking like a costipated puppy. Stiles felt sympathetic. He knew that they weren't exactly the best at school at the best of times, and Scott had a point at lunch. They really did have a lot on their shoulders, a lot more than most kids their age. He twisted his mouth to the side, then sighed. 

He looked back down to his paper, then whispered under his breath. "Scott. Isaac." He could see them both tense in their seats out of the corner of his eyes. "One is D."

There was a slight pause before he could hear them both hurriedly flipping back to the beginning of the test. Stiles slowly went through the first 15 problems, glancing up occasionally to make sure nobody else could hear him. He wasn't sure they caught all of them, and there wasn't really a way he could ask, so he would just have to trust that they heard him. "That's all I have done. You guys are on your own from here."

He could tell they were both a little more confident in their grades and they went back to work. Just as they turned in their sheets, there was a light knock on the door.

"Come in," Ms. Flemming called out. 

The door opened and Stiles felt his heart begin racketing in his chest. Psychopath was standing in the doorway, only a light yellow tinge on his cheek to show that Stiles did any damage to the man at all. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. 

"Mr. Argent. It's so good to see you," Ms. Flemming said brightly. 

"Sorry for intruding, I just couldn't resist popping in," Gerard said, smiling cockily. He gave Stiles a sickening wink before wrapping his arms around their teacher. 

"It's no problem at all," She gushed. "We were just finishing up a test. Here to see Allison? Or are you coming back into the substituting game?"

"Got it in one," he said. "I'm too old to be teaching anyone anything. I just had to come pass along a message."

Scott and Isaac were practically writhing in their seats. Stiles gave them a stern look, but that only seemed to make it worse. 

"I could look up what class she is in," She offered. 

"Oh no. It's fine. I've already visited her. I just wanted to say hello on my way out."

"Well, I would love to chat but-" Ms. Flemming started, looking a bit sheepish as she gestured to the class. 

"Oh, no. I understand completely. I would love to chat with you soon too, though. And you know I always get what I want."

That part was definitely aimed at Stiles, and he was equally proud and amazed at his ability to look completely unbothered in the face of a crazy, pedo-sounding grandpa. Stiles could hear a light buzzing sound and saw Scott's lip was turned up with a growl. 

"Scotty. Enough," he whispered harshly. 

"Excuse me?" Gerard asked, politely. 

"I wasn't talking to you," Stiles snapped before thinking. 

Everyone turned in their seats gaping at him, but Stiles didn't even notice, too busy glaring holes in the man who tortured him. 

"Stiles!" Ms. Flemming chastised. "Apologize right now, or you can take yourself to the office."

Stiles continued to glare, then looked at Scott and Isaac. He was tempted just to stand up, grab his backpack, and walk out, or tell Ms. Flemming just where Gerard could shove his apologies, but where would that leave him? How could he explain his animosity toward someone he wasn't even supposed to know? And the most concerning, what would Scott and Isaac do if he left.

"Stiles!"

He bit the inside of his cheek until he thought it might burst. "I'm sorry."

Gerard gave him an infuriatingly smug grin. "I accept your apology. Thank you, Stiles."

His stomach bottomed out. He said his name. _His_ name. He could feel the bones of his fingers starting to buzz uncomfortably beneath his skin, his heart churning, the room closing in on him. He clenched his fists, and a deafening pop above him had him jumping from his seat. The lightbulb above his head exploded, small pieces of glass raining down on his seat and the two in front of him. 

"Holy shit," he whispered, looking up and around frantically, as the class erupted in disgruntled chatter. 

"Oh my," Ms. Flemming gasped. "Nobody move. Excuse me, Mr. Argent. I need to tend to this."

"Not a problem. I'll see myself out. I hope to see you very soon," Gerard said, looking absolutely delighted by the turn of events. He walked out the door, and Stiles looked at the glass covering his desk. 

"Stiles? You okay?" Scott asked, bewildered. Stiles nodded, but his expression didn't seem to match the answer. 

Ms. Flemming was still looking helplessly at the glass covering the floor. "Can someone on this side of the room get the janitor please?" 

******

Stiles managed to dodge most of the Pack's questions by getting to class faster than he would have originally thought possible, but that didn't stop all of the questioning and concerned looks. For the first time since he'd gotten there, he was happy he couldn't play lacrosse, even if he was practically a human popsicle by the end of gym. Well, it wasn't really gym as much as running laps, and watching the guys play lacrosse, but still. His legs were already sore from all the conditioning work they had done, and the sound of the leaves shaking on the trees was a lullaby urging him to sleep. He stepped into the parking lot and chills ran up and down his arms. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself and walked to his car, excited to feel the warmth. 

"Stiles."

He turned, his keys half out of his pocket. Derek. That was a surprise. He hadn't seen him since the Pack meeting. Not that it bothered him. Okay, actually, it kind of did. How did the guy go from playing guardian, pain-pulling and buying him a phone to ghosting him? 

Stiles feigned nonchalance, despite the slight flutter in his chest. "Oh. What's up Sourwolf?"

"Don't call me that," Derek growled, automatically. 

"You're just making the name stick more, dude. Very counterproductive."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Scott said Gerard stopped by."

"Yep. That he definitely did," he muttered, fumbling his keys. His numbing fingers betrayed him, and they fell to the ground. In half a second, before Stiles could even process that they fell, Derek had them snatched off the ground. Derek held them out, but just as Stiles went to grab them, he closed his fist around them, raising an amused brow. Stiles sighed heavily. 

"What do you want from me? Come on. Just get it all out so I can go. It's colder than your little alpha heart out here."

Derek paused, looking Stiles over. Deaton said his wounds were looking much better than he expected, no longer needing much care outside of regular cleaning, and Derek could tell that he was standing straighter. The others were giving him semi-daily updates on how he was doing, but he didn't seem to be doing as well as what they thought. His eyes were dark, his skin pale except for the tip of his nose and ears, slowly brightening from the cold.

He would ask the Pack about it later. He had other things to worry about right now.

"You need to be careful. A lot of people were in that classroom," Derek said after a moment. "People can't know what you can do or-"

"I get it. I already got that speech, remember?" Stiles snapped. He looked away from Derek's shocked expression regretfully, kicking at the gravel beneath his feet, his tone softening. "I-I didn't mean to do it, you know. I was just-I couldn't help it. It just happened"

"I'm not getting on to you," Derek said, confused at the sudden acrid smelling animosity flooding his senses. "The whole Pack is worried. My phone has been going off all day. I wanted to make sure you're okay."

Stiles looked at him incredulously. Was everyone really this blind? He got being blissfully unaware, but why did Derek even act like he cared? Nobody else seemed to.

"If I'm okay?" He asked, the words seemingly pulled from his throat. "Well I'm not. I'm not okay, okay? He made me apologize, Derek! The fucker stood there smiling like a sadist or something, and I wanted to kill him. I wanted to tear his freaking head off and feed it to Jackson. Screw what Scott thinks, I'm not going to stop until that dude is dead, I swear it."

"I'm not your enemy here," Derek said, trying not to get defensive. "But you can't just run headfirst at a hunter. Look how well that went the first time."

"Fuck you, and good luck stopping me," Stiles sniped back. "I don't care how many werewolves you sic on me, I'm taking him down."

"You're going to get yourself killed, or draw the wrong kind of attention to yourself. You don't even know what you're doing!" Derek snarled. "Stop being stupid and use your brain."

"I am. He's threatening me. He hurt Erica and Boyd. You're the one that's not thinking straight."

"Why are you so hard-headed?" Derek whisper-yelled. He looked around, random people slowing to watch them. He tutted impatiently, and lowered his voice. "I'm trying to help you. You think Gerard will be the only one after you? After us?"

"Then fucking help me," Stiles said, throwing his hands up. 

Derek glared at him. "You're not going after him alone."

Stiles turned away from him, done with this day, done with Derek, done with this whole conversation, and growled when he realized he still didn't have his keys. Stiles saw motion in his periphery and looked over Derek's shoulder. Cora was climbing in the front seat of Derek's car, but Erica was just leaning against it, her eyes down. Was she trying to listen?

"Peter can teach you things. Maybe even more than Deaton," Derek said. He wasn't sure where the sudden need to fix the situation came from, but it seemed to make Stiles pause. He shifted on his feet then looked up at Derek through dark lashes. 

"He doesn't know what I am," Stiles pointed out. 

Derek shook his head. "He doesn't, but he knows more about magic than anyone I know. If there's something to learn, I'm sure he could teach you."

Stiles eyed at him suspiciously. "Why offer this now?" 

Derek frowned, like the answer was obvious. "I didn't want you to kill yourself with exertion, but if you're intent on killing yourself anyway, you might as well do it usefully."

Stiles snorted, shaking his head. Derek felt his grip tighten around Stiles’ keys. He definitely wouldn't mind making Stiles laugh like that again. 

"Fine," Stiles said with a faint smile that quickly soured into a half-grimace. "I don't think Peter will want to help me, though."

Derek shrugged. "Won't know until you ask.”

“I’ll ask him, then. Can I go now?” Stiles asked. 

Derek thought about it, then crossed his arms. “You’re required at Pack meetings for the time being.”

“What? Why?” Stiles demanded. 

“We need to keep you in the loop. You want to find Gerard, right?” Derek took his disapproving silence as an answer. “Then you’ll be there Saturday.”

“Fine. But you’re buying food. I refuse to starve and be bossed around simultaneously," Stiles said, reaching for his keys again. Derek pulled them away again, a smug look on his face. 

"What now?"

"Nothing. Just thought I’d show you what it’s like to be annoyed for a change."

"Ha ha very funny. Let me be the one to tell you that if the Alpha thing doesn't work out, you will be seriously fu-"

"Derek! Let's goooo," Cora said, practically sitting on the door of the car through the window. "I'm starving. Public school lunches are pathetic."

Derek dropped the keys into Stiles hand, and gave him a quick squeeze on the shoulder that made a fire light in his stomach. Derek’s eyes flashed red for a split second. "Be careful. And don’t be stupid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun stuff. I hope this chapter didn’t seem too rushed or generic😬 I’m on a inspiration dip right now. Love you guys as always, and I’d love to hear what you loved, hated, whatever! Don’t forget to subscribe so you can get notified when I update! Stay Safe and Happy Reading! ✨💕


	6. You’re Not Harry Potter, Stiles.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek gets teased.  
> News about Laura.  
> Stiles is in troubleeee  
> Magic training.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry if you read this chapter then it got taken down. I keep reading it and I hate it and I can’t figure out why. I deleted it, hoping to fix it, but I couldn’t figure out what to fix haha so sorry again. Here you go!

Derek sighed when he climbed into his Camaro to find Erica and Cora grinning at him. He made a weird face, trying to figure out what it was they seemed so happy about, then chose to ignore them. He stuck his key in the ignition and looked in the rear view mirror, furrowed brows reflecting back at him, then backed out of their parking spot a bit faster than what was necessary. Even as he pulled away from the lot, he could feel their eyes still staring expectant holes in his face. He looked out his window, trying to escape their gazes, but they didn't waver. 

He shook his head to himself as he looked back out the windshield to the road ahead, fully determined. No. He was not going to give them the satisfaction of asking what their deal was. If they had something to say, they needed to just say it. He wasn't going to give in and indulge them just because they were being annoying. He had too much stuff to worry about without them adding their melodramatics. He was going to drive them home, wait on the others to check in after practice, then go on his patrol. Maybe then he could-he could-Cora moved in his periphery and he squeezed the wheel, scowling unable to take it anymore. 

"What?" He snapped. 

"So. Stiles huh?" 

Erica grinned widely, her head poking between his and Cora's seats from the back seat, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. Cora looked smug, too, but it was more subdued, in usual Cora fashion. 

Derek's nose scrunched up. What the hell was she talking about? 

"What about him?" He gruffed.

"You like him?" Cora asked but it sounded more like a statement. 

Derek glanced over at the two, the rolled his eyes at their bright excitement. "I'm keeping an eye on him. We don't know if we can trust him yet."

"Mmm.." Erica hummed. "Cool. So where do shoulder touches and magic practice fall into that narrative?"

Derek exhaled sharply from his nose. This was why he'd been careful to pull Stiles aside alone. The Pack always read too far into everything, trying to make things more than what they were. Honestly, he thought they would accuse him of bullying Stiles but this was worse. Mostly because he found himself slightly embarrassed. "It will be easier to keep an eye on him if he trains with Peter. Deaton won't tell us anything we don't ask for explicitly."

"And the Pack meetings?" Erica asked after a slight pause. "You didn't let Allison come to them until like two months ago."

"You know why I didn't trust Allison at first," Derek said. "Keeping her close could have been dangerous. Not keeping Stiles around could be even worse."

Erica frowned, studying his face in the mirror, then sighed in defeat, falling back into her seat. She really thought she was on to something for a moment. It was obvious that Stiles found Derek attractive, if his smell and reaction to their teasing was any indication, and even if Erica wasn't exactly sure of Derek's sexuality, he seemed different talking to Stiles. He wasn't sweet or lovey by any means, but he was softer, in a way. Not to mention the mega-asshole everyone said he turned into when people kept trying to get him to leave Deaton when Stiles was hurt. But... Maybe he really was only trying to keep an eye on him. 

"So you don't like him?" Cora asked, confused. 

"I don't care about him enough to not like him," Derek groused. 

Erica tilted her head a the slight uptick in his heartbeat, but she kept her small smile to herself, not wanting to incur Derek's wrath. 

"He's nice," Cora said pursing her lips together. "I don't understand why you don't trust him. He already helped the Pack more than once, even if he didn't know it."

Cora was pointedly looking down at the papers in her hands to avoid him, and he wondered what it was about Stiles that made her so defensive. As much as she liked to argue about little things- _human things,_ he reminded himself-she tended to keep her head down most of the time. When she did speak, though, it held more weight in his mind, like if she was actually speaking, it was worth saying. That was not once, but twice that she stood up for him. 

Derek could see why, even if he didn't want to admit it. He and Cora were alike in more ways than one. Definitely not in the speaking department, but in the more important ways. That didn't explain his own feelings, though.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, finally. 

Cora obviously hadn't expected that and held his gaze until he had to turn back to the road, but that short statement seemed to settle something in her, and she nodded. 

"Find anything on your patrol?" Erica asked. 

Derek's jaw tensed. "Same as always."

Erica expected as much. Every night they would go out and find its scent, but nobody was ever able to catch even a glimpse of what they were looking for. Research wasn't going well either. Even with Peter and Lydia researching, they only managed to eliminate a few dozen possibilities. 

Derek's phone buzzed in the cup holder and he held it up. _Meet at 5 in clearing?_ He frowned at the clock that read 4:45. There was no time to make any stops if he was going to be there on time. He bit his tongue, debating his options. He didn't really want to wait any longer than he had to, but taking the girls would make things complicated. He wasn't even sure he would meet with him if he asked to postpone. He didn't seem like the type to wait around for anyone. He shot back a quick text. 

"Wait, where are we going?" Cora asked as they passed the turn off to the preserve a minute later. 

Derek tapped his fingers on the wheel. "We are going to see someone about Laura."

********

Stiles sat in his car in front of his apartment complex feeling more than a little horrified at himself. He played over his conversation with Derek and inwardly cringed, his face burning with embarrassment. If being some freaky Carrie knock-off moment in math class wasn't enough, he had to have a freaking meltdown in front of Derek. It didn't make sense. He kept himself in check all week, even around Scott, yet less than five minutes around Derek made him spill out everything. 

He leaned his head back against the headrest. Great. Just perfect. As if Derek didn't already not like him enough. What the hell was with that family and their ability to get under his skin?

Instead of dwelling on it more, Stiles trudged up the steps to his apartment and got to work. He did the nights homework, then worked on tidying up the apartment, getting lost in thought as he worked through each menial task. 

He started with wiping down all of the counters, then started cleaning out the fridge. It came with the apartment, and it was obvious that it hadn't had much love. He debated cooking as he looked over everything he pulled out, but since his dad wasn't going to be home tonight, there wasn't much need to. That's what pizza rolls and hot pockets were for. 

Apparently his dad and his second in command were working together more often than not, trying to figure out more about this creature killing, not that they knew that's what it was. It didn't seem they were making much progress. Stiles was less than pleased to hear his father had hidden the murder of the florist, but once Scott and the others filled him in on that tidbit, he snuck the files away and added the relevant information to his board. 

His first thought, after learning what he had about werewolves, was that the florist could have been involved with Gerard. It would make sense that a group of hunters would need wolfsbane, and since it was a flower, perhaps that's where they got their supply. Supernatural drug deal gone wrong, if you will. Several things didn't add up to with that theory, though. 

First of all, nothing was stolen. The inventory came back as normal and from the casual conversational questions Stiles asked Allison, it didn't seem that their family would need any assistance getting Wolfsbane, or any other weapon against Werewolves, for that matter. 

Second, after looking at the pictures, there was something off between the two murders. The florist's murder was brutal. It was fast, bloody, and rough. The sheriff's murder was similar in some aspects, but the wounds themselves were different. They weren't sharp and swift, but jagged, like whatever caused them chose to drag their claws down his chest slowly. 

The last big difference, which Stiles had overlooked at first, was that the florists' hair was tinged, but there was no sign of fire or extreme heat. That had to mean something, right? 

Stiles looked toward his father's room as he swept the floors, pursing his lips. The Pack asked him to get the pictures at the meeting, but nobody ever brought it up again. He wasn't sure if that was because they didn't want to bother him or they didn't want to worry about that stuff unless they had to. Regardless, it wouldn't hurt to bring them to the Pack meeting Saturday. 

Stiles put the broom away, then washed his hands of the grime from the microwave and stove top. 

Noah was a great cop, but he was terrible at hiding things. It didn't take Stiles long for a much younger Stiles to realize his father would be a great candidate for Identity Theft. His passwords for everything always revolved around his mother. Anniversary for his pin. Her name and the last two digits of her birth year for his email and pretty much everything else app related. Most importantly, her birthday for the filing cabinet.

He opened the bedroom door and his eyes automatically locked on the whiskey glass by his side table. He didn't think his dad was drinking again. Well, he knew his dad was still drinking his nightly beer or two, but he hadn't seen the whiskey bottle at all since his talk about Peter. He thought that things were progressing, or that he was trying to be less reliant on it, but apparently the only thing that got better was his dad's ability at hiding it. 

Stiles had to bite down the hypocritical thoughts, unable to fall back on his typical righteous anger that tended to flare up in these situations when he reminded himself that he was lying to his dad, too. It still stung, though. He was hiding the supernatural to protect his dad, but his dad was hiding his drinking because he knew what he was doing was self-destructive. Stiles knew it was a disease, and his father couldn't help it, but hiding it just seemed worse, somehow. 

Stiles pushed those thoughts away and opened the cabinet, flipping through the numerous files his dad brought home to look over until he found the one for the florist, then the old Sheriff. He laid them out on his dad's bed and looked them over, but there didn't seem to be anything he hadn't seen yet. He took pictures of every paper and crime scene photo until he was sure he had everything, then filed them away again. 

Stiles shut the filing cabinet, then froze when he heard the front door creak open. He hurriedly clicked the lock shut, spinning the numbers around a few times then slid on his socks into the hall, throwing his arms out to keep himself from falling, then shut the door behind him as quietly as possible. 

"Stiles?"

"Coming," He said, trying his best to look and sound casual before stepping into the kitchen. Stiles noticed warily that his father looked, for lack of a better word, pissed. His face was stern with disapproval, and his arms crossed like he was intent on shutting Stiles out. Stiles almost expected steam to start pouring out of his ears. 

"Hey dad," he said, cautiously, drawing out the words. "What are-what are you doing home?"

"Why do you _think_ I'm home?"

The question didn't really make sense, but maybe that was because Stiles was already busy trying to come up with excuses for why he was in his dad's room. Turns out he didn't need them. 

"I got a call from the school today."

Stiles blinked. The school? He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came. That was...not what he was expecting. "Uh.."

"We've been back two weeks and I'm having to ask Parrish to cover for me while I come home to lecture you. What could you possibly be thinking talking back to a teacher?" Noah asked, sounding so disappointed it hurt. "I expect better than this. At least tell me there was a good reason for it."

Stiles continued to gape at him. His teacher actually called him? But-he apologized! Not that he meant a word of it, but that seemed like overkill, especially after the school let a lightbulb explode on him. Not that they could really help that, but rude. Noah glowered at him expectantly. 

"It wasn't a teacher," Stiles blurted, motioning his hands like "that's better right?" According to the deepened creases on his father's forehead, it was not. "Plus, the guy is an ass dad! A Grade A jerk wad! I didn't even say anything bad."

"Watch your language," Noah frowned, but after a moment he caved under the looming curiousity. "Who was it if not a teacher?"

"His name is Gerard Argent. He doesn't work there or anything. He came into the classroom looking for his granddaughter, you know, my friend Allison?"

Noah didn't look like he recognized the name but he nodded anyway. 

"Scott's new girlfriend. Anyway, I've talked to her and I know he's-well, he was abusive. She hates him. I think he knew I was her friend, and when I said something to Scott trying to get him to calm down, he called me out in front of everyone."

Noah mulled that over. 

"Do you know if she is safe? I can make a few calls," Noah said, voice tinged with concern. Stiles felt a rush of warm affection for his dad. This was why he loved him. Why he trusted him more than anyone, even after the thing with Peter and the alcohol. He was sometimes a bit strict, but above everything he was a good dad and an even better cop. He would give the shirt off his back to anyone, do right by the worst of the worst, even if nobody else thought they deserved it. 

"Yeah," Stiles said breathily. As safe as she could be for a hunter. "She's okay. Her dad apparently tossed the geriatric psycho out a while ago, but he decided to come back and stir up trouble."

Noah pulled out a notebook, quickly jotting down a few notes, then nodded. 

"Tell her that she should file a report. Maybe she can get a restraining order. I'll take her statement myself, if she wants. Until then, let's go back to the part where he called you out. What exactly did you say?" Noah asked, then there was the smallest hint of a smile. "Hopefully not that he's a geriatric psycho."

Stiles rolled his eyes. He was dumb, but he wasn't _that_ dumb. "Like I said, I was trying to keep Scott from flipping out and he said 'excuse me?' like he really thought me whispering to somebody else in a totally different direction than him was really me trying to get his attention. So you know, I-I told him I wasn't talking to him."

Noah looked dubious to say the least. Stiles didn't blame him. That hardly sounded like a realistic story but what was he supposed to do? Make it more dramatic than it was just so his dad would believe him? 

"Maybe not in that tone, but I swear that's all I said. Apparently him and _Ms. Flemming_ are buddy buddy so she got super mad. Doesn't surprise me though. She seems like the type to go out of her way to kick kittens," Stiles muttered, spitting her name out like it tasted like straight vinegar. "Birds of a feather and all that."

Stiles noticed his dad had fallen silent and looked up. Noah's head was titled, his brows furrowed like he was trying to solve a particularly tricky problem. 

"Dad? What is it?"

"You said Ms. Flemming," Noah asked, slowly.

Stiles shrugged, obviously not understanding. "Yeah. What about it?"

Noah pursed his lips. "The person that called me was a man." He hesitated, then added, "Maybe the principal?"

Stiles nodded his head robotically as he processed that, eyes pointed to the floor. That wasn't possible, seeing as their principal was also a woman, but he couldnt exactly tell him that. If a man called, Stiles was certain it was Gerard, just wanting to prove he could fuck with him, and Stiles couldn't put his dad in the middle of Gerard problems. Once his dad got a scent he didn't back down and this was one answer he didn't want his dad to find. "Maybe."

Noah rotated his shoulders, then worked the kinks out of his neck with his hand. "I know you don't like him, or that teacher, obviously, but there will be a lot of people you don't like in your life. That doesn't mean you can be disrespectful to anyone, but especially not your elders. If Allison and her father are worried, they can deal with that by filing a police report."

"But dad, you don't get it. This guy is seriously messed up in the head. Milk before cereal messed up."

Noah sighed heavily. He didn't understand why that was so incriminating, but he had long given up on asking Stiles questions about stuff like that. "Son, I deal with people every day that hate me and would love nothing more than to hurt me, but when they goad me, I can't fall into their trap. It would only hurt me in the long run. You can't let people have that power over you either. I'm sure Allison appreciates you being in her corner, but I need you to stay out of trouble. Or at least keep it to a minimum, and out of school."

Stiles sagged, but he nodded in agreement. There was no point in trying to explain further. His dad wouldn't understand-couldn't-even if he really wanted to. 

"On a brighter note, I think I found us a place," Noah said, walking over to the couch. He dug in the space between the arm and the cushion, then held out a newspaper. 

"Really?" 

Stiles took it and opened it until he found a few listings circled, all of them marked through except for one. 

"Yeah. Four bedroom, two bath. Two story."

Stiles tilted his head. "Isn't that a bit big? Can we even afford it?"

"I want an office, and if your grandma ever decides to visit, I figured you'd appreciate not having to share your room."

Stiles snorted in agreement, but still didn't look convinced. "And we can afford it..?"

Noah leveled him with a look. "Yes we can afford it. You do remember I'm the adult, right? Housing isn't as expensive here and I got a pay raise. Plus it helps that the people were really ready to sell. I don't imagine a lot of new people come here often." Stiles nodded, still looking at the ad. "I've already looked at it, and they said we can move in this week if I sign on it. If you want to look at it first though-"

"No, it's okay. If you like it, I'm sure I will. Anything's gotta be better than this tuna can."

Noah chuckled. "Got that right."

Noah's phone went off and he pulled it out, glancing at it before shoving it back in his pocket. 

"I need to get back to work," Noah said, giving him a sad smile. "I'm not going to lie, I was determined to ground you, but it sounds like it was just you playing hero again."

Stiles grinned, but Noah pointed at him sternly. "If you do it again, though, you won't have a phone, whether they deserve it or not. For a while. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Stiles said. Noah was almost to the door when Stiles stopped him. "Oh dad? Do you mind if I go out?"

Noah turned, his hand still on the doorknob. "Where?"

"I'm not really sure yet. Probably Scott's. I can let you know when I figure it out though."

"Alright. Fine. Tell Melissa I said hi if you make it over there. I want to know anywhere you go."

Stiles nodded eagerly. 

"I mean it Stiles. You take a trip to the diner or go to the school or anything, I want to know about it."

"Yes, dad. Yes. I will message you every hour on the hour if that's what it takes. Aren't you supposed to be leaving?"

Noah gave him a warning look that made Stiles mildly scared for his life, but he walked through the door. "Love you. Stay out of trouble."

"Love you too."

*****

The car stopped in a clearing a few miles away from the preserve. As if on cue, a blue sedan came from the opposite direction and parked a bit away from them. Derek assumed it was to be sure Derek was who he said he was before deciding to reveal himself. One could never be to careful in a town known for hunters. 

"Who is that?" Erica asked, her tone serious. Her stance shifted subtly, and she moved closer to Derek and Cora. 

"He's trouble," Derek answered. 

"Are we going to have to fight?"

"No. Just don't say anything. Don't argue. Don't ask questions. Everything you hear you will keep between us, do you understand?" Derek asked, eyeing the car. 

Cora nodded but didn't understand what the big deal was, why he was getting himself into trouble over Laura when they were clearly already in enough of it as it was. She knew Derek was tracking Laura and had Danny keeping tabs out for her, but from what Cora could tell, they were better off without her. When her powers started waning, she turned into a totally different person. She was no longer the strong, put together Alpha she always strived to be. She lashed out and made stupid decisions, like sending Cora away and running the Betas ragged. By the time she couldn't even full shift anymore, Cora was glad she was gone. She didn't have to be there to know Derek was having to do everything in his power to keep her under control. She figured it was almost a relief when he finally got the Spark, a relief that she left. 

Cora didn't want to think about what it would mean for everyone if she did come back. Derek had a tendency to look to others, but he was doing a lot better about owning his new powers and leadership. The Pack was stable. Not exactly what she remembered but they were relatively happy. Derek let them be kids but prepared them for what it meant to be Pack. He was good. He was _trying_. She wasn't sure that would hold with Laura there. 

Once Erica agreed, they all stepped out, walking to the front of the Camaro. A man dressed in a sleek tux with blonde, smoothed back hair stepped from the car and Erica tensed, sniffing the air. 

"Derek," Erica whispered, lowly.

Derek tilted his head but kept his eyes trained on the man as he walked over. 

"He smells a little like Stiles did. When he did magic."

Derek gave a small nod in acknowledgement, the tendon in his neck jutting out as he swallowed. That was a lot to unpack. Darach had a very distinctive smell. It wasn't something you could mistake with something else. If Stiles was a Darach, then his Pack wasn't as safe around him as he thought they were. 

"Derek Hale?" The man asked. His voice dripped with power and authority, his accent thick and regal. Derek supposed most people would find him intimidating, but he wasn't shaken. This wasn't the first powerful being he'd encountered. 

"Yes, sir. I appreciate you meeting with me. These are my betas, Cora Hale and Erica Reyes."

"Ryan Westland," he answered. "The pleasure is all mine."

He looked from Derek to the girls, then paused when his sight locked on Cora, eyes narrowing in fascination. He looked from Cora's hands, to her hair, then her eyes and smirked, like he knew something she didn't. Cora bit her tongue, forcing the militia of words arming themselves behind her teeth back. He took half a step forward and Derek stepped in front of her, cutting off his view and, for once, Cora was thankful for the protective gesture. 

The man's brows rose slightly in surprise, as if he'd forgotten Derek was there at all, then he smiled politely. "My apologies. It isn't often I see a werewolf-born human."

"Our father was human," Derek said in explanation, but the man gave him a strange look. 

"Even still," he said thoughtfully, glancing at Cora over Derek's shoulder again. "I've only met one other in my lifetime."

Derek frowned. That couldn't be right. All his life he heard having children with a human made having human children a possibility. There were a lot of people who didn't marry other werewolves. Some, like his mother, even had human mates. If that were the case, a man like him should have met more than just one. Right?

"However rare it is, I suppose that isn't what you want to discuss, is it?" The man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. He held it up between two fingers and Derek pulled out a stack of money from his pocket. 

"Whoa," Erica mused, eyes wide at the wad of cash. Derek shot her a look, making her shrug back in annoyance. Derek handed the money over in exchange for the paper, and both of the girls scooted closer. 

Derek opened it, shrugging the girls away, then skimmed through the lines. He hadn't even finished when he let out a small growl. "Deucalion?"

Cora felt a pang of sympathy. Deucalion was the asshole Alpha who bit Paige, Derek's first girlfriend. She died when her body resisted the change. It was actually Paige that made Cora decide against taking the bite. Seeing the black sludge that covered her clothes, the brokenness in her brothers spirit for two years, hearing him scream in his sleep...Living as a human could never be bad enough for her to risk dying like that. 

"Why is she with Deucalion?" Derek demanded, the air of peace gone in an instant. "What could she possibly want from him?"

"You've heard of the Alpha Pack, no?" Derek nodded. It was an abomination. Werewolves slaughtering their packs for power was something he could never understand, what they would never be able to justify. They were the worst of the worst. Everyone was terrified of them. He was surprised they'd lasted so long. 

"She's searching for answers. Who better to go to than a Pack of Alphas?"

Derek frowned, then looked back to the paper. "You're sure?"

"It's what I do. I'm not sure she will find what she seeks there, but then again, there are many questions unsolved with the Hales, it seems. Your family is very peculiar," Ryan mused. 

"What's left of them," Cora agreed coldly. 

"Yes. I was very sorry to hear about your family. Your mother was quiet a force to be reckoned with." Ryan turned his attention to Derek, hesitating a moment before deciding to follow through with his thought. "I've heard Peter is back. Is that correct?"

Derek nodded. 

Ryan smiled. "Leave it to Peter to beat death. I would love to hear how he did that. May come in handy one day."

"You'd have to ask him," Derek said. "I don't know anything about it."

"Yes. I hope to contact him soon. However I think we should keep our contact with each other between us for now. Peter and I have a complicated past, if you didn't know."

Erica snorted. "Doesn't everyone."

Ryan chuckled. "A man that powerful will always have enemies. As will you," he said to Derek. "Would you like me to continue tailing her?"

Derek hesitated, unsure. This was getting out of hand. He had plenty of money to keep him searching for a while, but when did it end? Laura wasn't coming back until she found out why she lost her Spark. He understood it, he really did. He didn't want it, but Laura did. She worked her whole life for it. Spent all of her time and energy training for the day she would be the Alpha, and now, it was gone, with no explanation. 

"Think on it. I'll call you," Ryan said, straightening his sleeves. "It was nice to meet you, regardless. All of you."

Cora's lip curled in obvious distaste but he left before any of them could say more. 

"Well, he was a delight," Erica said, sarcastically. "Are we going to get an explanation in the car?"

Derek clenched his keys and turned to the car. "Nope."

*****

Stiles texted Scott, but he didn't reply. He tried to call after waiting about 30 minutes, but still no answer. He couldn't be with Allison because she was with her dad, but Stiles figured he was probably busy with something or maybe working with Deaton. That was weird to figure out, by the way. Who knew that his best friend's new boss was a Druidic Veterinarian? 

After another half hour passed, Stiles was regretting not asking for anyone else's number, but seriously, it felt weird without them asking first. Everyone was either in a relationship, or he wasn't close enough with to ask. Cora was the odd one out in both cases, but as much as he liked her, he didn't want it to be awkward if she took it the wrong way, or told him no, and Cora was definitely the type to say no, even if he thought she liked him as a friend too. 

Stiles could only be patient for so long. He would like to blame it on the ADHD, but Stiles was pretty sure he'd be impatient regardless. 

Stiles groaned, throwing himself on the couch. He sat there for a bit then checked his phone, shooting off another text. Then he slowly made himself a sandwich, peeking at it again after every third bite. He finished that, then took to balancing a pencil on his nose from his chair at the table, but after figuring out it wasn't as hard as he expected, he checked it again. Stiles glared at the empty notification bar and took a deep breath, trying not to imagine the different ways to kill a werewolf. 

At around 6, Stiles finally climbed into his car with his freshly printed files, tapping nervously on the wheel as he drove out to the Preserve. He was sure he was going the wrong way several times, but he kept driving, hopeful that if he kept going he would reach it eventually. Stiles finally started seeing familiar trees and roads, and when he pulled up, he facepalmed internally. Of course Scott wasn't going to answer his phone. Training day. 

Lydia, Cora, and some guy Stiles didn't recognize were sitting on the porch watching the others who were paired off, each set a few yards away from each other. Scott against Peter, Erica against Jackson, Isaac against Boyd. 

"You made it," Erica said happily from across the yard. 

"Hey man. What are you doing here?" Scott asked as he jogged over. 

"Dude, I've called and texted you like ten times," Stiles said, dropping his arms to his side. 

"Really? Sorry, my phones in the house."

"What happened?" Derek asked, instantly on alert. 

Stiles acted offended. "No 'Hi, Stiles. Nice to see you, Stiles.' I'm appalled, DerBear. I thought we were passed the one syllable interactions."

Derek rolled his eyes. 

"For the love of god," Jackson muttered. 

"If he doesn't get magic down he could always talk the bad guys to death," Isaac agreed, under his breath. Jackson snorted.

Cora was too busy walking over to notice jthem and slung her arm around Stiles just as Scott made it over and he frowned at the interception. "He's not big on pleasantries. Or being pleasant at all, really. What are those?"

Apparently the rest of the Pack took his appearance as dismissal, all of them leaving their spots in favor of crowding around Stiles. Only Peter, the guy he didn't recognize, and Derek hung back, the latter of which looking like he just bit into a lemon, or maybe a rancid onion. 

Boy, was his mind going to over analyze that to death. How many people give those kind of looks to people they like? Or even tolerate? 

Stiles handed Cora the files and she opened them, her face scrunching up. "Okay. Ew. Warn a girl, dude."

"What is it?" Boyd asked. 

"Just the files you guys wanted. They are a little blurry because I had to print them off my phone, but it's legible enough. Especially for you guys and your super sight," Stiles said, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Everyone but Boyd burst into argument about who got to see them first, but Lydia halted the argument when she held out her hand sternly. Cora shrugged and handed them over, making everyone else groan in protest. 

"Thank you," Lydia chirped, smugly. 

"Anytime," Cora answered with a wink. If Stiles didn't know any better, he would say Lydia actually looked flustered, pink flooding her cheeks. 

"Right. Yes. Well, I should go look at these. You guys go back to your practicing. Lord knows you need it." With that, she nodded toward the porch to Cora and then they both walked away, unknown guy falling into step beside them. 

"I was going to come to your house after training," Scott said, ignoring Lydia. 

Stiles perked. "Oh. Really? Why?"

"Yeah, man. What the hell happened in math class? That was you, right?"

Stiles should have expected that. He rocked on his heels, feeling like he was stuck in a menagerie, everyone's eyes locked on him. He suddenly wished a hole in the earth would open up and swallow him. At least until they went away. 

He was new to this. If they didn't know what he was or what he was capable of, how was he supposed to?

"I-I don't know," Stiles said slowly, looking between them. "It just kind of happened."

"You just happened to explode a light bulb?" Isaac asked, dubiously. "With your mind?"

"With my mind would imply that I was trying to do it," Stiles snarked. "Which I didn't."

"I think it's cool," Erica said, giving him a small smile. She understood better than the rest how it felt to be the weird one. "Would've been better if it was his head instead of the light bulb."

Stiles snorted in amused surprise. "If only." 

"Go for a run," Derek barked out. "We can't waste any more time. It's short enough as it is. Full patrol around the Preserve. I'm timing you."

They all grumbled as they drug themselves away, but Derek didn't turn away. Instead, both he and Peter came to stand in front of him.

"Training for you starts tomorrow," Derek said, lowly, watching as the others started for the trees. "You'll meet with Peter at the old Railroad Depot."

Stiles looked to Peter and his easy blank expression, and couldn't help feeling slightly insecure. Knowing that he and his dad basically abandoned him made it hard to know how to act around him. Peter seemed happy to see him at first, but something felt different now. Maybe it was his mind overthinking things. 

"Tomorrow?" Stiles repeated, his voice going up an octave. 

Peter nodded curtly. "What all has Deaton given you?"

Stiles rattled off the few titles he had, even the one he hadn't looked at yet. They weren't the most interesting read, but he got through the first three fairly quickly. 

"Of course Deaton would start you off with theory. He's too practical to be of any use," Peter said, sounding annoyed. 

Derek gave him a sharp look but Peter rolled his eyes. Derek's looks stopped bothering him years ago. 

"I have some books upstairs. If you'll excuse me," Peter said, turning away before Stiles could get a word in edgewise. He watched after him, not sure what had just happened. 

"Why are you here?" Derek demanded when the door shut. 

Stiles was caught off guard by his tone. It was far different than the "I'm not your enemy" talk he'd gotten just a few hours earlier. 

"You guys wanted the files," Stiles offered, hoping he was just reading Derek wrong. "So when I couldn't get a hold of Scott I just brought them over. I figured you'd want them ASAP."

"It couldn't have waited until school?" Derek shot back. 

"Could me handing off illegally obtained confidential police files wait until we were at school with over a hundred other kids to witness it? No. It couldn't," Stiles said, with as much snark as he could muster. Which was a lot. "Who peed in your Cheerios?"

Derek gave him a disgusted look, but didn't answer. "You shouldn't come here unless asked to."

"Whoa. Erica told me I could come at lunch and you just told me to come to meetings. Am I missing something here?" 

"Erica isn't in charge. I am. Just because I said you could go to meetings doesn't mean you can come and go whatever. This is the Pack House. You're not Pack."

"Fine. Then you can figure out your monster bullshit without the files. You obviously don't need the help," Stiles said, smiling sardonically. 

Derek frowned. "I never asked for your help. They did. We can figure this out on our own."

"Okay, well I was offering it. I don't want my dad to end up like the last Sheriff, so the faster you guys find it, the better. So kill the asshat attitude."

"Don't forget your place, Stiles," Derek warned. "If I wanted to, I could make them all stay away from you. Don't make me prove it by giving me a reason to."

Stiles was about to argue back, but another voice interrupted him. 

"Hey, Derek. I think Lydia and Cora need you," the guy Stiles didn't recognize said from behind him, throwing his thumb over his shoulder toward the house. 

Derek glared at the guy, then at Stiles, nostrils flaring with a quiet huff. "Go home."

When he turned and stormed off, Stiles couldn't help himself. "You're welcome!" 

The guy smirked, and walked over, holding his hand out. "Hey. I'm Danny."

"Stiles," he answered back, taking the guys hand and shaking it briefly before shoving both hands into his red hoodie pocket. "What the hell is his deal?"

Danny shrugged. "Lydia sent me to save you. Apparently he's been in a mood since they got here. She could tell from the window it didn't look good. Guess she was right."

"I think he's been in a mood his whole life," Stiles muttered. "But thanks."

Danny bobbed his head side to side. "He's a good guy. Just a bit-well. Abrasive I guess would work."

"So you're part of the Pack, then?" 

Danny nodded. "For a few months now."

"Do you not go to school with us?" Stiles asked, confused. 

"I eat lunch in the library," Danny said, apparently knowing where Stiles' train of thought went. "I get paid to help fix up the library since the sub they have working doesn't know the system."

"Oh. So what are you?" Stiles winced. "Wait, can I even ask that? That sounded super not right coming out."

Danny laughed. "It's fine, but I'm just the honorary token human. I got pulled in when they were dealing with the whole Peter situation."

Peter situation? Stiles frowned. He really needed to ask about that. 

"I mostly just help out with computer stuff, sometimes research, but half the time I don't know what's legit or crap people made up, so I'm not much use in that department."

"You and me both. You don't know how embarrassed I was by all the questions I asked Scott when he told me he was a werewolf. Apparently fanfiction is not a good resource."

Knotting. He means knotting. 

Derek walked out on the porch and was staring at them, his arms crossed. Stiles sighed. 

"I guess I'll see you around. I should go before your alpha rips my head off."

Danny gave him an apologetic smile. "Probably for the best. Oh, and these are for you."

Danny held out the books that were tucked beneath his arm. They were thinner than the ones Deaton gave him, and the covers were worn, the paper tinged yellow with age. There weren't any titles on them, or if there ever were, they were long gone now. Stiles made a mental note not to eat or drink with them. He was half convinced they would turn to mush from slight humidity, much less a glass of orange juice. 

"Anyway, it was nice to meet you, Stiles."

"You too."

*****

Stiles was nervous as he walked up to the abandoned Train Depot. It was beyond creepy, but he didn't really expect anything less since Derek was the one who advised it. It was practically a tetanus minefield dressed up in all the haunted house vibes. The crunching of leaves under his converse didn't stop even after he stepped inside, but he could see why. A lot of the windows on the first floor were busted out and the door wasn't even fully attached, hanging crookedly from the busted latch. The scenery was enough to set him on edge and it didn't help that he didn't know what he was expecting from today at all. 

He'd flipped through all of the books the night before, but was less than thrilled when he found they were all written in Latin. It was still interesting to look at all of the different sigils and markings, some simple lines, and others elaborate designs of art that Stiles wasn't sure he'd ever be able to recreate. He kept an eye out for the septagram, but he never came across it. 

Learning this stuff was going to be a lot more work than he thought. He spent a few hours translating line by line through his laptop, but some of the words didn't seem right in context with the others. He would have to buy a proper translation book. Until then, he pulled some partially used spirals from one of his desk drawers and ripped out all of the used sheets, then wrote down everything one page at a time in English. He only managed to make it through five pages before the words started to blend together. 

School passed a lot quicker than he expected. Cora apologized on Derek's behalf, but he was quick to assure her it was fine. He hadn't really wanted to go there in the first place. It was still a bit grating that he _couldn't_ go, but that was just his stubbornness rearing it's head.

At lunch, Stiles borrowed Scott's phone to put in everyone's phone numbers, after he asked if it was okay. Apparently is wasn't as big of a deal as he thought it was because everyone seemed to think he already had them. He hesitated when he got to Derek's number, but ultimately typed it in. As much as the guy seemed to hate him, they would probably be hanging around a lot for the time being. It wouldn't hurt to be able to call him in case of an emergency. 

Stiles almost tripped over a random drain in the floor, letting out a yelp. He scowled at the offending crater. That's what he gets for letting his mind wander in a death trap. Peter must've heard his less than dignified noise because his voice echoed off the walls. 

"Over here."

Peter was standing behind one of the old rail cars, debris and random machinery parts littering the area. There was a table with various antique looking objects set methodically around it and another set of books on the corner. 

"Nice place," Stiles joked half-heartedly. 

"It'll suffice," Peter said, though his tone didn't seem to agree. "How did you like the books?"

"You mean the Latin? One of the many languages I don't speak? The whole five pages I managed to get through were just great," Stiles said, picking up one of the objects to study. "Real interesting stuff."

Peter plucked the thing away from him, setting it further away, and Stiles pouted. Definitely a family resemblance there. 

"Latin will be very useful for you to learn. You'll get faster."

Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets. 

"So what's the plan? We going to Leviosa this bitch?" 

Peter frowned. "You aren't Harry Potter, Stiles."

He sighed. He was so tired of hearing that. "Okay. Whatever, Wolf Sensei. What are we doing, then?"

"First, I need to check what you know," Peter said. "You read about the different types of magic users, right?"

"Druids, Darach, Witches, Wizards, and Sparks."

Peter smiled in approval. "There are many types of magic within those subtypes. As different as each of the types are, they all have one thing in common. One thing that limits them."

Peter raised a brow at Stiles in silence question. Stiles thought about it, then shook his head. 

"I don't know. I don't think I read that."

"You did, you just didn't think about it. All magic users draw power from something. Depending on what they draw from, their capacities vary. Druids pull from nature, Darach from others, witches and wizards from ancient repetition of words and utilizing specific ingredients, and Sparks from their own energy. What they draw from, what they have on hand, where they are, all of this can change how much power they can hold and use at any given time. What we are going to do is figure out where you draw your power from, and therefore what type of magic user you are."

Stiles nodded, suddenly feeling eager along with his initial nervousness. That didn't sound too bad. Just test out a few theories and bam. Knowledge. "Okay. Cool. How do we do that?"

Peter picked up one of the items, a small box made of oak, with intricate designs marking each edge. "Hold this."

Stiles gave him a flat look. "Hold it?"

"Yes, Stiles," Peter sighed. "Just hold it."

Stiles looked at it apprehensively, then took it from Peter, cradling it in his hands. It was cold and smooth, feeling more like stone than wood. His fingers traced over the designed, engraved deep in the surface. He held it up to his face, studying it, then looked at Peter. 

"What now?"

"Nothing," Peter said, taking it back. "Wizard is off the list."

"What? Well, Damn," Stiles muttered under his breath. That fucking sucks. 

Peter flipped through one of the books, searching quietly, until he found what he was looking for. He stood beside Stiles and pointed to one of the pages. 

"I want you to read this line. It may take a few tries, but just focus on the words as you read them."

"I thought wizard was off the list? Why do I need a spell?" Stiles asked. 

"Just because other magic users don't need spells doesn't mean they aren't useful for directing magic. Especially if you are new and inexperienced," Peter said, almost tauntingly. "Read."

Stiles took the book away and read over the words. _Stillas roris ac procellosus pluviam cadere usque ad terram iterum._

"All I see is 'and' and 'tempest'," Stiles blinked, dropping the book to his side. "Did you miss the part where I can't read this?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "It means 'Dewdrops and tempest rain fall to the Earth again.'"

"That's super cheesy. Did a kid write this?"

Peter narrowed his eyes. 

"I don't choose how this works. Just say it."

Stiles shrugged and said it, but he was pretty sure he botched it. Royally. As expected, nothing happened. Peter pronounced it slowly, the words rolling easily from his tongue, like he'd been speaking Latin his whole life. For all he knew, he probably did. It was bizarre how much he didn't know about the man he used to think of as his second father. 

"Stillas roris ac procellosus pluviam cadere usque ad terram iterum," Stiles said slowly. The words seemed too big for his mouth, but he tried again. And again. And again until it finally started coming more easily, but nothing happened. 

"Picture each individual word, then string it together with the next," Peter prompted. "Let them bind together, like links in a chain, then push it into reality."

Stiles pictured dewdrops rolling down a blade of grass, wind blowing his hair as scattering rain pelted against his skin, almost tasting the cold drops on his tongue, but still, nothing happened. 

After about 10 minutes, Peter frowned, and took the book back. "We can come back to that."

"Man. This is harder than I thought. Was that Druid stuff?" Stiles asked.

"No. If you were a Spark you could visualize what you wanted and will it into existence, but apparently that wasn't right. I think we will try Druid next though."

For the next hour, Stiles played treehugger, magical Lorax if you will, but as with the first two tests, they came up with nothing. That one hour turned to two, and two to three and they were no closer to figuring out what Stiles was. Peter was stumped. If he didn't know any better, he would assume Stiles had no magical tendencies at all. 

"That should be enough for today," Peter said, looking thoroughly worn. Stiles obviously wasn't the only one discouraged, but Peter felt something else too. It was there, and Stiles could see it, but he didn't know what it was exactly. 

"It's not good that none of these worked, is it?" Stiles asked. 

Peter preoccupied himself with putting everything away as he thought of how to answer that. Peter put off testing him as a Darach for last, not wanting to consider that possibility, but even when Stiles insisted they try it, nothing happened. It didn't make sense. Stiles' eyes turned black. That only happened with stolen magic. Darach could get power in many ways, but only if they have fully taken an inherent source from someone else would their eyes change to black. That wouldn't be possible with him not knowing about magic. 

Unless he took his mother's Spark somehow. 

Peter never heard of such a thing being achieved before, though he was sure there were people power hungry enough to try. How he would have been able to do so as a five year old child, he didn't know. If he did take it, he wasn't able to unlock it as he chose, because the Spark test failed. Peter's head hurt, and he would very much like a drink. 

"It's unusual," he finally answered. "Most of the time, figuring out where your magic pulls is the easiest thing to distinguish."

"So what do we do?"

"Read the books. Try a few spells at home. Although, I would advise against anything that would be dangerous. Stick to water conjuration or the potion you tried."

Stiles nodded dejectedly. "Okay. Thanks anyway."

Peter put a firm hand on Stiles' shoulder and Stiles looked into his pale blue eyes. "You'll get it. We will figure this out. It just might take time."

Stiles' mouth twisted to the side, but he nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Peter."

"Of course, pup. Anytime. I'll see you Saturday, then?"

Stiles scoffed, and Peter walked with him to the door. "If Derek will still let me come."

"My nephew is complicated, but I'm sure you will eventually get along. You're quite the little parasite."

"Gee. And here I thought you were being all warm and sweet," Stiles said. 

"I've never been accused of being sweet," Peter mused. 

Stiles couldn't exactly believe that, but he didn't argue. "See you Saturday."

Peter nodded and watched as Stiles walked to his car, Derek's footsteps coming up from behind him. Peter's nose scrunched up and Derek's disapproval was almost palpable. 

"That went well," Peter said before Derek had the chance. 

Derek scoffed. "Could he be doing that on purpose? Hiding his magic?"

Peter shrugged, but the serious expression on his face didn't wane. "I suppose. He would have to know he was doing it, though, so I doubt it."

Derek debated telling Peter about Erica saying he smelled like Darach, but that would mean telling Peter about meeting with Ryan. It wasn't worth it. Derek had no doubt Peter would eventually figure out what Stiles was, but until then, he would have to be patient. Besides, Peter was already pissed at him for telling him not to be around Stiles alone. He didn't need Peter running off because Derek pushed him too far. 

"We should get back to the house," Derek said. "Cora and Isaac are probably wondering where we are."

"Wouldn't want the puppies to wander away," Peter hummed. 

Derek almost commented about Peter's own pup but held his tongue. It felt like a low jab, even if he wasn't sure why. 

"I'm driving," he said instead and Peter groaned. 

"I hate this, you know. It's ridiculous having you following me around."

Derek smirked. "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions? Theories? What did you love or hate? I’d love to hear from you guys!


	7. Caught, Mother Trucker!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy Stilinski. 
> 
> Magical impotence. 
> 
> Peter overthinking. 
> 
> Meeting the (first) monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long! I hope I’ll be able to post more regularly. Hope it helps curb your appetite. 
> 
> Also, if you’ve read my 200k+ Peter Parker/Steve Rogers fic, I kind of stole a piece of this from there, so sorry for the recycling.

Parrish pushed the last of the papers toward Noah, his desk overflowing with files, notes and two empty coffee mugs taunting them from their place on two shoddy coasters. There was a slight chill in the air, even in the confines of the office, like the heater was on protest against the slight fall in temperature. It was even worse at night, after the sun fell, but it started around this time the last few days.

They'd been going through the papers and witness statements all week, trying to weed out all of the past Sheriff's enemies, including not only all of the people he helped put away, but a man he fought in a bar a few years back, his ex wife, the string of affairs he had that lead to their divorce, and his daughter, who seemed to like her father as much as her mom did.

So much for Noah's idea that Sheriffs needed to keep up appearances.

Noah was sure that the connection had to do with what file the killer took off of the Sheriff's body, but when they talked to others who were supposed to have worked the case, they claimed not to know what he was talking about. There were no other copies or records of the file except the log that proved the Sheriff signed it out. Noah and Parrish debated whether they were covering for him, thinking maybe they were paid off, considering what it meant if they really didn't know what was in the file, but it didn't matter. The bottom line was that they weren't going to get the information.

"I think it's time to track down Kaci Keeney," Noah said.

Parrish let out a long breath, puffing his cheeks. That was going to be easier said than done. The woman had up and left the moment she was done with giving her statement after finding the Sheriff's body. Her reason for leaving on her email resignation was personal time due to trauma, which was understandable considering the carnage she witnessed. Even still, the fact that she left without giving them an opportunity to properly question her was more than a little suspicious. She left a number to contact her by, but so far, she hadn't answered once.

"How do we go about that? She could be anywhere," Parrish pointed out. "I doubt we have enough to request for a warrant for her phone records."

"You're right," Noah said. He pulled out a phone book from one of his drawers and dropped it heavily on the desk, pushing it over to him. "Which is why we start with immediate family."

Parrish gave him a dubious look, but picked up the book anyway. "Mother's name?"

Noah peered over at the file. "Maria Keeney."

Parrish opened the book and started flipping through the pages. Noah pulled out a phone book of his own, searching for the sister, but his mind wasn't wholly in it, the conversation with Stiles from the day before rearing its head. After a moment, he lowered the book again. "What do you know about Gerard Argent?"

Parrish looked happy enough for the distraction. He looked to the ceiling in thought. "Gerard Argent? Mm. Not much, honestly. I've met him once or twice at a few of the school functions, but I haven't had any problems with him legally, if that's what you're asking."

Noah nodded, but there was a deep crease in his forehead that made Parrish continue.

"I think he used to substitute at BH now and again, with his daughter Kate. The whole family left for a few years, but Gerard came back for a short time after Chris and his family moved back, then left again after his daughter's funeral."

Noah raised a brow. "Funeral?"

"Yeah. She was mauled by a cougar on a hunting trip," Parrish explained. "They managed to find and kill it a few days later, but they were all pretty torn up about it. Chris' wife killed herself."

Noah's mind went to Allison. That poor girl. Not only was her grandfather abusive, but her aunt and her mother both died in terrible ways. No wonder Stiles was quick to defend her.

"She went hunting by herself?" Noah asked, coming back to the conversation. "That doesn't seem smart."

Parrish shrugged. "I guess it comes with the territory. They're all licensed arms dealers. They supply up and down most of the West Coast, from what I understand," Parrish said, looking to Noah scrutinizingly. "Why are you asking? Is he a suspect?"

Noah rested his chin in his hand, rubbing over his freshly shaven face. He didn't know why this was still nagging at him. Stiles didn't seem too concerned about it, but knowing that it could have been Gerard that called him seemed like a personal attack. He thought about calling the school, but if he was right, that would just raise questions. If the man truly was abusive, he could be trying to push Stiles away from his granddaughter, isolating her from help, especially if he knew Noah was the Sheriff. Noah had seen cases like this before. How far would Gerard go to push her friends away? It was unsettling to think about before but now Noah knew Gerard had plenty of weapons at his disposal as well.

Regardless, it was probably best to keep this to himself. There was no point in making accusations just yet, especially without any hard evidence to back his claim.

"No. It's not the case. I'm sorry, it was just a question," Noah said.

Parrish didn't look convinced. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Noah shook his head. "I wish we could just figure out how the two cases are connected."

Parrish licked his lips nervously. It kept coming back to that. Parrish had debated this again and again, but there didn't seem to be a right answer. On one hand, he could keep his mouth shut. If he did, though, they would keep heading in the wrong direction, spending time looking for something Parrish knew wasn't there. He couldn't explain everything either. Not if he wanted to be a free man, anyway. The best he could do for now is plant a seed of doubt.

Parrish leaned forward and tapped his fingers on his knee. "Sir? I'm not wholly convinced they are."

Noah looked up, raising a brow. "What makes you say that?"

Parrish just shrugged. He couldn't exactly explain his reasoning. Noah would think he was crazy. He thought he was crazy.

"Another one of those hunches, huh? Do you have those often?" Noah said, his tone slightly teasing.

"More and more, it seems," Parrish muttered.

Noah's phone rang, and he leaned back in his chair to grab it from the back of his side desk. "Sheriff Stilinski."

"Hi, it's Janice. I was just wondering if you managed to sign those papers I sent over."

Noah held up a finger to Jordan and he nodded.

"Yes. I faxed them over. Do I need to resend them?" Noah asked, checking the fax numbers scrawled at the top edge of his copy.

"No. I haven't been in the office today. I was just calling because I was in town and wondering if you wanted me to go ahead and drop the keys by the station. I know that we still have to send the papers to the bank, but I was going to let you start moving your things."

"That would be great actually. You can just drop it with the woman at the front desk, if that's okay."

"That's fine. That'll actually be faster for me."

"Thank you," Noah said. "Stiles will be happy to hear things are moving quickly."

"Alright then," the woman chirped happily. "I'll be by there soon."

Noah hung up the phone and held it up in apology. "Janice."

"So you're buying the house, then?" Parrish asked, seeming pleased.

"Yeah. I've been meaning to thank you for putting in a good word for me. I'm not sure I would've gotten it otherwise."

Jordan waved him off. "It was nothing. I'm glad you got it. It's a lot safer than those old apartments."

Noah gave him a smile then looked back down at the phone book. "Back to work?"

"Back to work," Jordan agreed with a sigh.

*******

Magic sucked.

Oh my _god_ , magic sucked. Stiles was doing everything he could think of to do something, anything would be great at this point, but it was useless. He threw his pencil across the picnic table.

"You're thinking too much," Lydia said, across from him, not even looking up from where her nose was stuck in a book.

Stiles glared at her. "Peter told me I had to focus. I'm focusing. I've focused."

She rolled her eyes. "Mmm. How well is that going for you?"

She had him there. This was some bullshit.

Stiles looked up to where the rest of the Pack, minus Cora, Erica, and Boyd were still practicing on the lacrosse field. It was only a few more hours before they were supposed to meet at the Pack House, yet here he was, still empty handed. Maybe a little advice wouldn't kill him.

"What do you think I should be doing then?" Stiles asked.

Lydia put her book down and smirked. "What do you think?"

Stiles looked away from her, annoyed. "I wouldn't ask if I knew, would I?"

Lydia sighed. "For someone so smart, you are so dense. When you helped Erica and Boyd, were you trying to use magic?" She paused, seeing the gears slowly turning in Stiles' brain. "What about the lightbulb? No, right?"

Stiles frowned. No. In both of those instances, his mind was as far from magic as possible. Hell, Stiles couldn't think of anything when Gerard was...yeah. That. Then when Gerard showed up, he was too angry to think about anything but how much he hated the bastard.

"So what?" Stiles said slowly. "It's an emotion thing?"

Lydia's lips turned down in thought. That wasn't exactly her line of thinking, but it made sense. "I suppose so. Mine isn't, but that doesn't mean you're wrong."

Stiles nodded, staring at the open books in front of him. He didn't know if he liked that explanation or not. Stiles had been mad plenty of times over the last two weeks, almost so much that he was beginning to think it was his new default, but nothing had happened then. What good was his magic if it took him feeling muderous for him to be able to use it?

And Stiles really wanted to use it.

At night, when he was in that weird space between being awake and asleep, he could still feel the phantom pain left from the cold, liquid comfort that filled his veins the first time he used magic. He would reach for it in his mind, try to pull it closer, but the more he yearned for it, the further it seemed to get, disappearing like a wisp of smoke, leaving him feeling unbearably empty.

He'd tried everything he could think of to try to boost his magic: herbs, a butt load of coffee, candles, meditation, the works. All he had to show for it was a scorch mark on his desk and a stomach ache.

Lydia looked down at her phone for the millionth time, then started gathering her books. She piled them into her backpack carefully, as opposed to Stiles who just shoved them into his backpack haphazardly.

"You know those are old right?" Lydia asked.

"So I've been told. Where's Cora?"

"She's with Derek and Erica, I think."

Stiles raised a knowing brow. "You think? So it hasn't been Cora blowing up your phone?"

Lydia didn't dignify that with an answer. "You're going to Scott's until the meeting, right?"

"Yeah. I'm going to try to do a little more research on the monster."

"Which one?" Lydia asked.

Stiles huffed. When he told the others about his theory of there being not one, but two separate monsters, they had pretty much brushed him off, so he highly doubted they'd passed the message on to Sour Wolf and Uncle Peter. Apparently his status as a newbie left him with frustratingly little credibility. Still, Stiles felt it in his gut that he was right. He apparently just needed to prove it.

"Both," he said stubbornly.

Even without their help, he had the monsters narrowed down to 20 for one and 36 for the other. That sounded like a lot, but considering how many books full of creatures there were, it was quite the feat. He was proud of all the work he'd done. It just proved to himself that he didn't need them.

Lydia frowned at his tone, but didn't get a chance to comment on it before Stiles' phone vibrated on the table.

**Daddio** :

If you don't have any plans, you can start packing. We can move in whenever. Let me know if you aren't going to be home.

Damn. That was fast. Stiles wasn't complaining, though. Half of his stuff was still in boxes shoved in the closet anyway. Moving his desk again was going to be a bitch though.

**Stiles** :

I'm going to Scott's for a bit, but I can get it done tonight.

Stiles put his phone back on the table.

"I can help you look if you want."

Stiles raised and dropped both brows. Now she offers. "Aren't you and Peter doing that already?"

Lydia wished she didn't keep having to be reminded. She was spending way more time with Peter than she ever wanted to have to. At least two hours a day they were stuck together in the Pack House library, pouring over books and tossing out suggestions. Even then they were no closer than they had been the week before.

"It never hurts to have another pair of eyes."

Stiles didn't know how to respond, but luckily about that time, Scott and Isaac were jogging over, their hair still wet from the shower.

"Hey guys. You about ready to go?" Scott asked.

Stiles nodded, throwing his back over his shoulder. "Yeah. See you later, Lyds."

Lydia rolled her eyes at the nickname, but her face was soft with fondness. "Goodbye, Stiles."

*******

Peter was up to his eyeballs in mind-numbing research of his own, and as much as he loathed to admit it, he felt a little in over his head with it all. When he realized that the origin of Stiles' magic was far more elusive than he expected, he started searching every possible avenue of thought.

For some reason he couldn't quite place, he couldn't help but think it had something to do with Talia. The guilt she felt was deeply trenched in her decisions for years, and as much as he felt that she was right to feel it, Talia wasn't usually one to dwell on things to the point of obsession. She made a stupid call and the Stilinski family paid the price, but the way she phrased it...

_It's all my fault. I never should have interfered. God. If I would have just listened..he said it would change her, but I **never** listen!_

At the time, he figured she was talking nonsense, that she was so lost in grief and guilt that she was babbling, but now, he wasn't so sure. What did Talia mean "it would change her?" What would change her? And who was "he?" Claudia was declining for a long time before she relented to Noah's requests for to her see a doctor. It wasn't something that happened overnight, so it was hard to pinpoint what time frame to look into, and even if he knew where to start, his memories of that time were foggy for various reasons.

Overall, it was just a hunch, hardly anything worth staking too much time on, but still, here he was, digging up ghosts he didn't want to face.

It was hard thinking about everything that happened. As he told Derek, Talia may have been Claudia's best friend, but everyone loved her. Seeing her go from such a bright light to a hollow shell of herself was something that Peter had never quite gotten over. It was just another in a long list of events that proved to Peter than no matter what you did, no matter how hard you tried, living a life with supernaturals never ended well.

Which is exactly why he never wanted Stiles and Noah to be a part of it.

There were some nights that Peter laid awake with Noah in his arms, thinking about telling him what he was, the imbalance in trust too hard for him to cope with, but by the time the sun rose, he always felt he made the right decision not pulling him into the fray. It was just too hard to allow himself to risk tainting them with the darkness that came with knowing about his world. Yet, despite his best efforts, the darkness had found the one person he wanted to keep it from the most.

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. If he could just find one piece-one more clue-he knew he could figure this out, but he was at a dead end. Talia was never one for keeping journals and neither was he. All of the information he had was too impersonal to be of any use and the only person who could bring in new information was Noah.

Peter had tried not to think about him, big emphasis on the word "tried." It was kind of hard not to when everything Peter did the last week seemed to revolve around his son. Or that was his excuse for it, anyway. How could he not think about him, though? As much as Peter was the only thing that held Noah together, the same was true for him. For every memory he replayed of his family while he was in a coma, he remembered five of Noah. When his anger and pain had eaten away his sanity, he would dream of the good times. Even knowing Noah was long gone, Peter left behind and forgotten, a part of him held on to Noah and Stiles like a lifeline.

Peter sighed wearily, absentmindedly running his fingers over his scruff. He was eventually going to have to face him. Stiles was in too deep for him and he would need as much support as he could get. He would just have to hope that his heart was strong enough to withstand it.

There was a knock on the door and Peter shut the book in front of him.

"Not the time, Derek."

The door opened and Cora peeked her head through the door owlishly, making sure her Uncle was decent before stepping inside and shutting the door behind her, not caring to wait for an invite.

"Good thing I'm not Derek, then."

Peter leaned back in his chair and raised a brow. He and Cora were closer than the others, but she didn't make a habit of actively searching him out.

"You got a minute?"

Peter looked to his things, but nodded. "I'm sure I can find one for you. What can I do for you?"

Cora scuffed her shoe against the floor and avoided the question by taking a look around his room. She walked over to one of the shelves and picked up a lone, small raven figurine. It was cold and black, so much so it seemed to seep away the light surrounding it like a black hole, contrasting strangely with the delicate details engraved into its surface. "Wasn't this in the old house?"

She could see it in flashes of memories, in the kitchen during holidays, on her father's desk, in the library, like it had moved through the house on its own.

It wasn't that mystical, of course. The Raven, a mystical symbol deeply entrenched in wolf culture, could often be found in most werewolves homes in the form of paintings, sculptures, or even taxidermy. Although Ravens usually foretell bad luck in the magic community, their pairing with wolves changed that on its head. Together, they were a sign of good fortune and luck, friendship and protection. This specific piece had been charmed for that exact use, and the family was constantly moving it from room to room depending on who needed it most.

"Yeah. I moved some things to the vault before the fire. I picked it up a few days ago."

Would it have changed anything if he hadn't?

"I didn't think there was anything but old books and dust down there."

"There isn't much," Peter admitted softly. "I can take you down there if you want."

Cora nodded then put it back in its place, gently running her fingers over the ribbed feathers before sitting on Peter's bed, one leg tucked underneath her. "So...Are you ever going to tell us about how you know Stiles?"

Peter smirked. "Aren't you two besties now? Why don't you ask him?"

Cora's mouth twisted to the side. It isn't like she hadn't thought about that, but every time she got the chance, someone came around and ruined it, and now it felt like too much time had passed. "I want to hear it from you."

Peter looked ready to protest, but Cora cut him off. "I know you told Derek. No way he would have shut up about it that easy."

"I did," Peter said, hesitantly. "He needed to know. He is alpha now. The question is why do you need to?"

Cora exhaled sharply out of her nose. "Because Lydia didn't tell you everything. I don't know if Derek filled you in or not, though, so this may not even be a big deal, but it might be, and if it is, you might be able to give me answers. You're smart. Figuring out shit is what you do."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"

"The first day Stiles was back, he had some kind of seizure after I touched him."

Peter blanched. Like Claudia?

"Lydia didn't bring it up because she was already looking into it, but you have more pieces of the puzzle than she does."

Cora's cheeks reddened with the words but Peter was too lost in his own worries to notice.

It wasn't a lie exactly, but it wasn't the whole reason Lydia kept it to herself. She was trying to protect Cora from Peter, worried he might blame her for Stiles' magic's emergence, but no matter his relationship with the others, Cora still loved him as much as she ever did. Protection from him wasn't necessary. What she needed was answers.

"He had a seizure?"

Peter's voice was clipped, still reeling from the revelation.

"Yeah. I think-I mean I can't be sure, but me and Lydia...well. I think I triggered his magic."

Peter stared at her for a long moment and Cora shifted under his gaze.

"We could be wrong, but the timing is strange right?" Cora said. He didn't respond. "Peter?"

He blinked away the nightmarish visions behind his eyes and schooled his expression. He cleared his throat and turned back to the papers in front of him. "I will look into it."

Cora studied him like she wasn't sure what to make of his reaction.

"Okay." She stretched out the word. "What do you think, though?"

"About what?"

Cora rolled her eyes, but there wasn't any heat behind it. "Did I do this to him? Did I make him into whatever he is?"

Peter frowned. "Magic doesn't work like that. Whatever he is had nothing to do with you."

Cora nodded mechanically, but her eyes were trained on the door. "Yeah."

Cora didn't point out the blatant lie. It obviously had something to do with her, if she was the catalyst that awoke his abilities, but it made sense. Peter didn't make Lydia a banshee, he just triggered it, so the same must be true for her and Stiles. It didn't make it feel any better though, and it didn't take away the dark circles under Stiles' eyes or make any of their problems away. It was just a small reassurance in the face of a big problem.

"I should go get ready for the meeting. Derek probably has a list of shit I have to do."

Peter watched her go, feeling strangely like he was standing in the cross fire of an ongoing battle, like he could be hit from any side at any moment. There was so much to digest from such a short conversation, but the most concerning was the seizure.

Peter was going to have to talk to Noah and soon.

*******

Stiles could only research so long before he started to go crosseyed, which is exactly how he got sucked into playing video games. Not that it took too much convincing. One good look from the puppy-dog eyes across from him and he was picking up his designated controller. It didn't take long for him to figure out that it was a bad idea though. Apparently his lack of time to play was really hurting his gaming skills. By the time it was time to leave for the Pack meeting, Stiles was practically fuming.

"Bad round?" Scott asked, a lopsided smile on his face.

Stiles grunted. "Fucking campers."

Scott sat up on his elbows from his pillow where he was laying on his bed texting, peeking to see Stiles' expression.

"Why are you so grouchy, dude?" Scott asked, nudging his shoulder with his foot. "It's just a game."

Wasn't that the million dollar question. Stiles rolled his eyes and pulled on his converse, ignoring the question. It wasn't like he hadn't noticed how on edge he was, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't control it. It was like he was 13 all over again, angsty and angry at the world. His childhood therapist would probably blame it on the trauma but it felt more than that. It had to be more than that. Stiles had dealt with enough trauma to know. Sure, it hadn't involved sadistic hunters, but trauma was all the same in the end, wasn't it? Just a big ball of nightmares and a healthy dash of panic attacks sprinkled in to mix it up a little.

"You guys heading out?" Melissa asked from her place at the bar. She had a plate and the fixings for a sandwich laid out in front of her, spreading something across the bread with a butter knife.

"Yes ma'am," Scott answered. "Over to Derek's for a bit."

"Wow. Looking snazzy, Melissa. Those new scrubs?" Stiles asked, leaning over the island to get a full view of her pants.

Melissa's face brightened and she nodded, tossing him and Scott a snack cake from beside the fridge. "They are! Thank you for noticing. It's so strange seeing my little Stiles all grown and polite."

Scott snorted and Stiles grinned. "That's me. Polite as ever. Real gentleman material."

Melissa raised a disbelieving brow. "I'm sure you are. The stories your dad tells of your troublemaking must not be true then."

"Just stories," Stiles assured her with a sarcastic nod.

"What time will you be home?" Scott asked.

"I don't know. I'm hoping I only have to cover half the shift since I work again tomorrow," Melissa said, but her tone made it obvious that she didn't actually see that happening. She always ended up staying the whole shift. "Stiles staying the night?"

"No ma'am. We are going to hang out for a bit then I'll probably head home. Dad says I need to start on packing."

"Yeah, he told me you guys were getting to move in early. That's awesome," she said.

"Can't argue with you there. I haven't seen it yet, but anything's better than where we are now."

"Well don't stay out too long, you two. It seems like this town just keeps getting crazier."

She had no idea. Melissa had been in the loop about werewolves since almost the beginning, but because Stiles didn't want his father to find out about his magic, Scott had sworn not to tell her about him. For Scott's own comfort, they also agreed not to tell her about the monsters, even though they were sure she at least had an inkling that everything going on right now was supernatural related. Melissa was nothing if not uncannily smart.

They said their goodbyes, Melissa wrapping them both in tight hugs, then they climbed into Stiles' car. The ride over to the Pack house was filled mostly with Scott's detailed regurgitation of his date night with Allison the night before, and Stiles was content to listen, only adding in the occasion "really?" or "that's cool." If he was being rude, Scott was either too enamored with his mental picture of Allison to notice or too nice to comment on it. Whichever reason, Stiles was grateful.

"Erica asked her to stay the night tonight, so she probably won't message me much," Scott continued, frowning. "They've never really been close before. I don't know what happened."

Stiles perked from his stupor. "It's probably a good thing. Everyone in a pack should be close. It just means that you guys are fully accepting her."

Allison was back to being the only human in the group, and even if having humans in a Pack was not unusual, her being an Argent didn't make things any easy for her. Everyone accepted her well enough, but there was no denying the distance between her and Derek. He was coming around, finding he actually kind of liked her and admired her in some ways, but until Derek fully accepted her, nobody else would be able to either. At least from what Stiles had read.

"I know. Yeah. I know that, but it's just weird. They're so different."

"And her and Lydia aren't?" Stiles asked hotly.

It was no secret that Scott wasn't a fan of Erica. Stiles wasn't there in the beginning, but from what he said, Erica, Isaac, and Boyd had been on one side of the werewolf acceptance club while Scott, Allison, and Deaton had been on the other. Scott was forced into the bite and never really wanted it, where the others had readily embraced it.

Apparently that was enough to cause a temporary rift between them. The trio had pushed Scott to train with Laura and Derek and work on gaining control, but he didn't want to do that. His main objective was finding Peter so he could kill him and hopefully reverse the werewolf curse. Some of that encouragement leaned toward aggressive assault (to Stiles' surprise), but even still, Stiles didn't think that was the reason he didn't like Erica. If it was, he would still hate Isaac and Boyd too.

Stiles' theory was that Scott's dislike stemmed from Erica's tendency to fix things with a hands on approach.

Whether it was stating her unpopular opinions or killing people to protect herself, Erica wasn't afraid to do what needed to be done. Sometimes it came off as bitchy or reckless, but Stiles knew her enough to know she would never purposely hurt anyone unless they deserved it. Unlike Scott.

Nobody ever mentioned Scott's rude comments again after the meeting but Stiles wished they would. It felt unresolved, like a barrier between them. Scott was a great guy and it was the first time that Stiles wondered if he was too good: like he wasn't able to see the grey in life. When they lived the lives they lived, that was something you had to lean on to survive. He'd only been in it for two weeks and he already knew that all too well. So why didn't Scott?

"That's different," Scott said, waving his hand. "Lydia and Allison are way more alike than Allison and Erica."

Stiles studied him for a moment, conflicted, then settled with rolling his eyes. There wasn't enough time to talk this over and he didn't want to be pissed off walking into the meeting. He was sure he was going to have plenty of time to work up to that as it was. He turned back to look out of the windshield and felt his heart drop. A man was standing in the middle of the road.

Stiles stomped on the breaks, but he knew it was no use. They were going too fast. He pulled at the wheel, just barely avoiding a head on collision with a tree, but the turn was too sharp. The air disappeared from his lungs and he could feel the wheels lifting from the ground. Scott's arm jutted out, slamming into Stiles' chest just as the car crashed against the guard rail. The air bag deployed and he heard a loud crack. A severe pain exploded in his chest and face. Glass flew all around them and he willed the car to stop moving as it rolled over the rail on its side. It didn't, and rocked onto it's top.

Stiles didn't want to move, the pulsing pain so intense he could hardly breathe, but he knew he couldn't just sit there.

"Scott?" He mumbled through bloody teeth. "Scotty, man? You okay?"

"Shit," He ground out.

Stiles let out a small, wet laugh. "Yeah. Shit. You alright?"

He winced in pain as he brushed the blood-sticky hair out of his face, every part of his body feeling instantly sore. "I'm okay. You?"

"Peachy. Could be better."

Stiles bent his neck to get a look at him and his stomach dropped. He was deathly pale except for the blood streaming down the right side of his face, almost his whole shirt damp and hot. His arm was broken from where he tried to block Stiles' airbag, a piece of bone jutting from his skin, and Stiles' heart stuttered painfully in his chest.

_Stupid. Fucking stupid. You were mad at him and now it's your fault he's hurt._

"That bad?" Scott smiled weakly. 

"Kind of. It's okay though," he said hurriedly. He wasn't sure who he was assuring though, Scott or himself. "It's going to be okay. You're a werewolf, dude. Basically just a glorified paper cut."

Stiles reached up and tried to unbuckle his seatbelt, but it was jammed. He licked his cracking lips and looked out the windshield. Was the man still there? Surely he called the cops.

"Hello? Anybody out there?"

There was no response.

He growled in frustration. So much for that.

He tugged and shook the belt again until he was sure it wasn't going to budge, then stopped to think for a moment, giving his tired arms time to rest. He could hear the metal groan and the sound of liquid sizzling on the hot engine with a tick, tick, tick.

"Scott. Wanna help a guy out with some werewolf claw action?"

Scott mumbled something incoherent, and Stiles bit the inside of his cheek. Scott was starting to lose consciousness.

"Fuck. No, no, no."

He groaned, adjusting himself to stop the belt from digging into his hipbones and dropped his arms, pushing himself upwards off the roof, hoping that if he held up some of his weight with one hand, he could unbuckle himself with the other. He sucked in air between his teeth as the glass dug into his hand, but he pushed through it. He shouted out in frustration and hit the steering wheel.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe through his ensuing panic attack. They could die. The car could catch fire. Scott could bleed out or get an infection. They could be left there to die in the cold. Would anyone even find them?

"Scotty. I need you to get out of the car. I need you to stick with me here. I'm going to unbuckle you, but I need you to get out," Stiles said, sternly, forcing himself to continue even through the cracks in his voice. Scott's eyes fluttered, but he nodded.

Fortunately, Scott's seatbelt didn't seem to be having the same problem his was. He unclicked it and tried to help support his weight as much as he could as Scott fell, but that wasn't nearly enough. He hit the roof at what looked like a painful angle, but at least he wasn't upside down now.

"Scott?"

No answer.

"Scott! You have to get out of the car."

Silence.

Stiles swore. He must've passed out.

He hurriedly looked around, searching all along the roof of the car for his phone and tried to reach beneath the dash, but it was too far. The familiar whoosh of a car gave him hope, but it was crushed quickly. They were too far from the road for someone to see from the far lane.

Stiles looked along the roof of the car until he found a big enough piece of glass to hold. He tried to rip a piece of his shirt to hold it with, but his head was getting light and fuzzy, so he just wrapped his hand around it carefully, sawing at the belt.

Stiles froze as he heard glass crunching in under steady footfall.

"Hello?" He called out, his voice raw. Black shoes stood a few feet from what used to be the hood of the car.

"Scott! The passenger. Help him. Please. Get him out first, he's hurt. Just be careful."

He watched as the footsteps walked past the passenger side.

"No! Other side, man. Other side!"

The man crouched down and peeked his head in at him, a soft smile on his face. He was dressed entirely in black, like he thought he was stuck in some kind of edgy vampire movie, but he had light hair and light eyes that threw off his entire vibe. "Huh. You don't look that powerful. Kind of disappointing really."

Stiles exhaled deeply out of his nose, cursing the universe. "You're not here to help, then?"

The man's smile grew. "Can't say I am. Sorry about that."

Stiles didn't wait around to ask questions. He gripped the shard of glass tightly and ripped through the buckle with all his might, his hand bloody and shaking, but finally it came free.

Stiles gasped in pain, hysteria bubbling into his throat as he scrambled through glass and blood, but the man was faster, through the window before he could make it past the console.

He shrieked, scrambling away from his manic grin and tried to kick at his hands, but he wasn't phased. He grabbed Stiles' ankle, dragging him backward a few inches, but Stiles grabbed on to the passenger seat.

"Stop, please," Stiles cried through clenched teeth.

He could feel the cold building in his chest, but there was something different about it this time. Where usually it was a cold trickle that seemed to soothe away everything else, it was washing over him like a torrential wave, powerful and threatening, ready to suck him down underneath the tide.

The man tugged his leg again. "He's going to like you. Spunky twink thing like you? Breaking you will be a blast."

Then a rustle in the trees behind him caught his attention, and he was looking back, his face hard, scanning for life. Stiles took advantage of the opening. He mustered all the strength he could manage and kicked him in the face making his head snap back. He grunted in surprise and pain, then looked back down at him, his nose busted and bleeding profusely, the intent to kill clear in his eyes. He growled, trails of red dripping into his mouth.

Shit. Fangs.

Stiles watched in horror as he twisted his leg in one quick motion, registering the sound of the snap a split second before the blinding pain. Stiles screamed and his vision started to blur, his insides twisting with untapped icy power.

The man laughed as Stiles cried, and Stiles could feel heat and hate and murderous rage building ever higher in his chest.

The man ripped his hands from the seat in one last tug, hovering over him as he laid on the grass. Stiles was about half a second from pissing himself, not even registering the glass sharps piercing through his back.

"Hope you enjoyed this," the man hissed motioning to his nose. "You're going to regret it."

"No. You are."

Stiles brows furrowed as the man was literally thrown across the car, tumbling across the jagged metal and then the ground like a rag doll. He somehow landed in a crouch and bared his fangs again, long claws extending at his side from charred-looking hands, large horns protruding from the back of his skull, growing and growing until they were past his shoulders.

"Think I found the monster," Stiles panted.

"No shit," Derek muttered.

The man roared loudly, throwing his head back and making Stiles almost dizzy with the power of it. Then he charged forward, straight toward Derek. Stiles winced in sympathy when they collided halfway, and limped around the car, using it as a crutch to make it to the passenger side. There was a crunch and Stiles glanced up just as Derek tore a chunk of meat out of the arm currently holding him in a headlock and hurried to focus on Scott so he wouldn't hurl. That was the last thing he needed right now.

"Come on, buddy, wake up. Wake up!"

Stiles shook his shoulder, but he didn't move. The cold was still pressing insistently, beaconing him to give in, but Stiles pushed it down.

One of the two men slammed into the car, rocking it dangerously far on its side, and Derek growled lowly. Stiles really hoped it was Derek on top.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"That's obvious, isn't it?" He was sprawled out on the hood and threw his head to where Stiles was crouched beside the car, his chest heaving. "Let me have him and I'll go."

"Fuck off!" Stiles yelled toward the front of the car.

Derek gave him a half shrug, tightening his grip on the man's throat. "What he said."

The man threw his head forward into Derek's, jostling Derek's brains and throwing him backward onto the ground. His claws swiped out at him, and Derek only barely managed to dodge, rolling from one side to the other, scooting back across the grass.

Stiles pulled Scott out through the window, wincing with every movement of his broken leg, "Fucking-heavy-ass!"

Derek hissed as four sharp claws ripped into his stomach, tearing through the muscled flesh like butter. Derek kicked his feet out from under him and threw himself upright, using every ounce of his weight and the residual velocity's to punch his already busted nose, making the man howl in pain. He batted Derek away as easily as if swatting at an annoying insect, sending him colliding into a tree.

Stiles had Scott completely out of the car, but he could only drag him so far. One way he would be in the middle of a monster fight, the other in the road. His eyes snapped up, looking desperately to Derek for answers of what to do, but he was still in the thicket of the fight.

They were at each other's throats now, literally, each trying to get the upper hand. Derek was slowing down, whether from pain or exhaustion, Stiles didn't know. Derek threw a punch, but the man caught it pushing him back and making him stumble. The man said something in a language Stiles didn't understand and punched Derek in the side, and he doubled over, lashing out with his free hand and dragging down the man's arm.

Derek managed to land one last good hit before he was on his back, pinned with his arms under the man's legs that straddled his chest.

"How do you think your pack will react when they find yet another of their alphas dead, gutted like a fish?" The man taunted, digging his claws into Derek's shoulders. "Hale Alpha is a cursed role. I'm actually doing you a favor."

"They will find you," Derek grunted, glaring as he shifted under the man's weight. "And they'll give you hell. I hope they make it hurt."

"I'm sure they'll try, but I'm more pow-"

Stiles appeared out of nowhere, arms suddenly wrapped around the man's neck from behind, and kicked off the ground with his good leg, throwing them both backward and releasing Derek from the man's hold. He reached back, grabbing stiles under his arms and threw him away. Stiles' vision went black with the nauseating pain shooting up his leg.

Derek wanted to sag in relief when he heard the familiar footfall of three others in the trees, but he didn't have time. The man was glaring at him with fiery eyes, holding the mangled door of the car above his head. He chucked it and Derek dodged the brunt of it, but the side caught his shoulder, jagged metal sinking into his skin.

Derek grasped at his shoulder, and his hand was instantly flooded with blood.

Time seemed to slow and stretch in front of Stiles, a pearl of nervous sweat dripping from his nose where it trickled from the sweaty strands of hair hanging in his face. A shiver of nervous anticipation shot up his spine, excess energy welling up inside him, just waiting to be released. It was the familiar jolt of electricity, the burning of adrenaline warning him of what was to come. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end like an alarm screaming danger, danger, danger and his thoughts washed away, leaving nothing but calm.

Just as Erica said, the smell of dampened soil filled the air, and Stiles's eyes were suddenly a void, dark and endless, so different from the bright emotion-filled amber he was used to seeing.

The man screamed, but was otherwise stock-still, as if his blood had turned to cement in his veins. Stiles walked forward, his hand outstretched and his broken leg shifting and grinding and seeping blood with each uneven step.

A ball of light was buzzing around him, bright as the sun despite its small size, flitting around crazily, like it didn't know where to go.

"This is Hale land," Stiles said, only a few feet away. "You've threatened the Alpha."

"I'm sorry," the man said, pleading. "I'm sorry. I'll leave. Please."

Stiles quirked his head, and the motion looked strange on his otherwise passive face. "You're Rabisu."

The man flinched away from the word.

"Makes sense. Filthy. Corrupt. Damned. I called it."

The man whimpered, crying silently, his arms still pressed stiffly at his side.

"You didn't kill the florist." It wasn't a question.

"No! No, just the sheriff. I didn't have anything to do with that."

Stiles nodded. "Who ordered you here?"

"Please. I can't-"

The man wailed and writhed fitfully as Stiles' eyes bored into him. Deep bloody welts and boils appeared out of nowhere all over his body, like he was being boiled alive.

"I-okay! Okay! It was Deucalion. It was all him, I swear!"

The blood drained from Derek's face. Deucalion? What did that mean for Laura?

"Derek!"

The others were coming in hot, Jackson in front, only seconded in his speed by Erica, but they were still across the field.

"Why?" Stiles demanded smoothly.

"I don't know! I swear I don't. I just go where they tell me! Please don't kill me. Please."

Derek couldn't make himself tear away his gaze as Stiles hummed to himself in acknowledgement then twisted his hand sharply. The man's neck broke and his body fell limply to the ground. Stiles bent down, shoving his hand into the man's stomach, and pulled out his entrails.

Stiles walked over, intestines dragging from his hands beside him. He stopped just short of Derek and held them out to him, baring his neck in submission.

"You'll need these, Alpha."

"What the fuck?" Jackson whispered, falling into a stop.

"I know," Derek said darkly.

"You know? That's your brilliant insight?" Jackson asked, heatedly. "He's dragging some dude's insides!"

Erica was studying Derek, but his face was frustratingly blank. The man said he worked with Deucalion. Could it be a coincidence that he sent a minion right after Derek sent someone to tail him?

"He did what he had to do," Derek said. "We are going to have to deal with the body, but first, how do you fix him?"

Erica shrugged, but she was obviously rattled, looking over Stiles in concern. "Don't ask me. I don't know. He just passed out last time."

"Wait. Where is Scott?" Isaac asked, looking around wildly. "He was supposed to be riding with Stiles."

Derek shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, motioning over to the car. "Somewhere over there."

Isaac jogged away and Erica nudged Derek, whispering lowly. "I think he wants you to take those."

Derek's nose scrunched up at the intestines. "You take them."

"What? No."

"Well, then, I guess nobody will."

Erica glared at him then rolled her eyes before peeling off her favorite hoodie and wrapping it around Stiles' hand, folding them in on themselves. "Ew, ew, ew.."

"So what the hell happened? And why is he doing that?" Jackson asked.

Stiles' head was still tilted, but he was staring at the ground, eyes still black and unblinking.

"I don't know," Derek snapped. "I don't know anything right now. I was just patrolling and I heard the wreck. That's it."

Isaac walked over, cradling Scott in his arms. "He's pretty busted up."

Erica pressed her lips together. "We should call Peter. And Deaton probably."

Derek stared at Stiles and sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Fine. I'll call him. You and Jackson get the body into the trees. We will come back for it later."

****

Scott was already healing, but Allison, Isaac, and Lydia went ahead and drove him over to Deaton's. He was still unconscious, his arm would have to be reset if it was going to grow back right. Peter said Stiles would probably have to go back to the clinic as well, but they needed him to snap out of whatever state he was in before they could do that. Besides, Peter didn't want Deaton anywhere near Stiles until he could figure out what kind of magic this was. He'd hate for Deaton to find out before he did.

Whether they wanted him to go or not, Stiles probably wouldn't have anyway. He wouldn't leave Derek's side for anything, not uttering a word as he matched each of his steps with his own, broken leg forgotten entirely. It was concerning to say the least.

They left the car as it was. They were going to have to call it in eventually, so there was no point in trying to move it. Erica called the pack house on the drive over to explain everything she could with what little details Derek had relayed and made plans for what to do with the body.

Everyone could feel Stiles' eyes on them when they climbed out of the car, even if his eyes were pointed to the ground. They would move, and Stiles would adjust himself accordingly, putting himself between Derek and the closest beta.

The orb of light was even more frantic now that the fight was over, lost in its own state of panic, buzzing around everyone, weaving in and out of every space between them.

Peter, Boyd and Cora met them at the door.

"Whoa. What the hell?" Cora said, trying to take in all of the blood. "Oh my god!"

Boyd had the same thought as hers and instantly tried to help carry Stiles' weight, but a warning look from black eyes had him backing away.

"His leg," Boyd said, grimacing. "I just-"

"It's okay, babe. He's not himself," Erica whispered at his side.

Derek guided Stiles through the room and pushed him gently on the couch. Stiles went down without a fight. 

"He didn't do this before," Boyd said. "As soon as the fight was over, he snapped out of it."

"That's what Erica said. What is he? How do we fix it?" Derek asked Peter.

Peter gritted his teeth, but his voice left his lips cool and detached. "I would love to know, but I haven't the faintest idea."

"He's still doing that shit? He's going to break his neck," Jackson said, handing Erica a towel to clean the blood off of her hands. When she was done she offered it to Derek but he shook his head at it. He needed a shower. It could wait.

"He's wanting Derek to Mark him," Peter said, sounding almost amused. Almost. There was a hint of something not so pleasant there too.

Derek's eyes snapped up. "What? No."

"That's why he's still doing it. I was just answering the question."

Derek looked down at him. There were all kinds of different ways marks were used in werewolf society. Some were to solidify pack bonds, some to mark a second in command, others used to claim emissaries. They didn't have to be in specific spots, and meanings sometimes varied from Pack to Pack, but the neck was always almost exclusively saved for mates or marriage partners.

"I think he's right," Erica said. "He keeps calling you Alpha. Maybe he's stuck because he's waiting for you to acknowledge him."

Derek growled. "This is stupid. I'm not biting him."

"I don't think it's a bad idea. Mom used to do it to you guys when you were out of control, remember? Maybe it will anchor him or something," Cora said.

When Derek didn't answer, Erica tried again.

"It's just a bite. We can't leave him like this. Look at him. How are we supposed to explain this to the Sheriff?"

Derek shot her a look. "He's not pack. End of discussion."

"Isn't he, though?" Boyd asked.

Derek glared at the four of them, all watching him expectantly. It wasn't like they hadn't made their thoughts known. The kid had only been around a short time and he already managed to weasel his way into their good graces. They could like him all day long, but that didn't change the fact that he was dangerous.

What choice did he have though?

"Fine, but whatever happens isn't on me."

Derek leaned forward, but even with his head tilted obligingly, he couldn't bring himself to bite Stiles on the neck. Instead he picked up his wrist. The scent from Stiles' escapades instantly tinged his nose and he yanked the rag from Erica's hand to hurriedly wipe his arm before lifting it again. His hot anxious breath rolled over Stiles' skin.

Stiles' brows furrowed and he watched, completely transfixed on his movements. Derek's fangs dropped, and he gently pierced the top layers of skin, just enough to bleed. Without thinking, Derek licked over the wounds, and pulled away.

The result was instantaneous. The room resounded with gasps as something deep inside them snapped together like a bungee cord, foreign emotions pouring into their minds. Anger. Pain. Loneliness. Shame.

Derek felt all of that too, but there was something else. A tug in his chest he never noticed was there eased from a constant ache to something much more bearable, leaving him feeling much welcomed relief from the years worth of built-up tension.

"Holy shit. Holy shit!" Cora yelled excitedly.

Derek gave her an incredulous look, rubbing at his chest. "What?"

"I can feel them! All of them!"

Peter's eyes widened. "What?"

"The bonds. They aren't muted, it's-it's like they are real now. Like I can really, really feel them."

"That's awesome squirt," Jackson smirked, tussling her hair. "Now you'll actually be helpful for something."

Cora punched his arm, not even noticing the dark looks Derek and Peter exchanged.

"That's a good thing, though," Erica said. "I mean it has to be. Right?"

They all looked back to Stiles. He was blinking down at his flexing hands, brows furrowed in thought, but his eyes were still black.

"Stiles?" Cora asked, crouching beside him. She took his hand and squeezed it softly. "You okay?"

Stiles' eyes met hers and she smiled a little before feeling her hope torn to shreds. "It hurts."

"What hurts? Your leg?" She asked.

"Everything. It always hurts."

That was ominous and totally not creepy at all.

They all jumped as both Derek and Cora's phones starting ringing at the same time, cutting off any response Cora or the others were hoping to voice. Not that they had any idea what to say to that anyway. Cora raised her phone in question and Derek nodded. She unlocked it, pressing accept before putting it on speaker.

"Hello?"

"What the hell just happened?" Lydia asked, irritably. "Did you guys feel that?"

"You felt it all the way over there?" Cora asked.

"Yeah. It's awful. I thought I was going to pass out."

"Wow. Uh, yeah. Stiles' just amped up the werewolf bonds," she said, sheepishly. "We will have to explain later."

The line went silent and there was quiet muffled words and fumbling before Allison spoke. "You guys are on speaker. I don't think it's the bonds. I would get it if it was just Lydia, but I feel them too."

Derek let his head fall back and closed his eyes. He had long since stopped thinking of Allison as an enemy, and he trusted her far more than he would ever admit it, but a full-blown ex-hunter human was feeling Pack Bonds. It was weird enough with Cora, but at least that could've been explained away with her having werewolf blood.

"I'll take this in there," Cora said, sensing Derek's impending freak out. She scurried back upstairs to get an update on Scott and explain their situation further.

"This doesn't make sense," Peter said. "I've never heard of full-bonds working with anyone but wolves. Partial bonds, yes, but this? Even with magic it should be impossible."

"It didn't even fix him," Jackson added, crossing his arms. "Now he just looks really confused."

Boyd nudged Erica's arm and they had a silent conversation with their eyes.

Erica eventually frowned, taking Cora's place beside Stiles. "Hey, Batman. This okay?"

A ghost of a smile tugged on one side of his lips, but it faded quickly. "Catwoman."

She grinned brilliantly, showing off all of her teeth and Peter felt his own lips twitch up. Figures even in his murderous state he could pick that out of his brain. "You know it. Are you okay?"

Stiles didn't respond but he blinked several times, like he was searching for an answer.

"I was just-Uhm." Erica faltered and Boyd nodded at her encouragingly. "You can come back now, if you want. Bad guy effectively dead and all."

Stiles looked to Derek for permission. "Alpha?"

Derek winced at the now accurate title, but gave him a curt nod despite the screaming in his mind telling him how ridiculous the whole situation was.

As stupid as it was, that small motion seemed to do the trick. Stiles closed his eyes, and when they opened again, the black was already dissolving away, slithering across the white to disappear back into the recesses of his mind. Stiles whimpered when the last trace of it was gone, only the slightest flicker of pain before he crumpled forward.

Derek caught him from falling on his face, but just barely. Erica quickly moved out of his way and Derek laid him down, gently picking up his feet and putting them on the couch.

"Cora!" Cora peeked her head down the stairs at Derek. "Tell Deaton to come here. We aren't moving him. He's lost enough blood as it is."

Cora agreed warily then disappeared again.

"Peter watch over him. I'm going to take a shower."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I’d love it if you commented! Good, bad, praise or criticism, I love all of it. I’m a masochist. I can take it! Lol

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!


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